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Books bp Benjamin Band

ECONOMIC HISTORY SINCE 1763. Cambridge, 1889;
5th ed., New York, rgi1.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ECONOMICS. Cam-
bridge, 1895.

LIFE, UNPUBLISHED LETTERS AND PHILO-
SOPHICAL REGIMEN OF THE THIRD EARL OF
SHAFTESBURY. London, 1900.

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF PHILOSOPHY. Two vols. New
York, 1905.

MODERN CLASSICAL PHILOSOPHERS. Boston,
1907.

THE CLASSICAL MORALISTS. Boston, 1909.

THE CLASSICAL PSYCHOLOGISTS. Boston, 1912.

THE CLASSICAL PSYCHOLOGISTS

aie oY) Lo ecpelage

HOMEDY 2 tp abiOE

:

THE CLASSICAL
PSYCHOLOGISTS

SELECTIONS
ILLUSTRATING PSYCHOLOGY
FROM ANAXAGORAS TO WUNDT

COMPILED BY

BENJAMIN RAND, Pu.D.
=

HARVARD UNIVERSITY

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Che Vivergide Press Cambridge

COPYRIGHT, I912, BY BENJAMIN RAND

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

\SOQ\R

PREFACE

“THE CLAssIcAL Psycuotocists” is a companion volume
in the field of psychology to the author’s “ The Classical Moral-
ists” in the sphere of ethics, and also to his “‘ Modern Classical
Philosophers” in the domain of philosophy. Its aim is to pre-
sent in a series of selections some of the most essential features
of the psychological doctrines which have appeared from Anax-
agoras to Wundt. The book is thus virtually a history of psy-
chology, not derived from an ordinary description of systems,
» but based upon extracts from original sources and upon trans-
* lations of the authors themselves. Such a work, it is hoped, may
- prove adapted for colleges and universities as a text-book of

reading accompanying courses of lectures in general psychology,

, and may become a necessary requirement of study made of all
> students before entering upon the study of the special divisions
__== of existing psychology. The general reader, moreover, will find
i it an interesting volume of original material of the great
MI psychologists from the earliest to the most recent times.

“ From Aristotle’s “ De Anima” there is reproduced at the
©) outset the first extant history of psychological theories. With
oo the name of Anaxagoras, who emphasizes the Nous as present

* in all things, but with insight as toits different forms in mind
~ and matter, it was thought the work might fittingly begin. Em-
<) pedocles is mentioned, who maintains that like is known by
<) like, and that perception is due to elements in us coming in
contact with similar elements outside. Democritus is also in-
cluded, who believes the soul to consist of atoms, the peculiar
fineness, smoothness, and mobility of which cause perception
and thought. The second selection is taken from the Theaetetus
of Plato, which Professor Jowett describes as the oldest work
in psychology that has come down to us, and which here con-
tains the contending Sophistic and Socratic views on the nature

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vi PREFACE

of perception. In it Protagoras affirms that the individual man
is the measure of all things, whereas Socrates seeks to conduct.
Theaetetus by means of the dialogue to the acceptance of a
universally valid knowledge. Although Plato’s psychological
views are scattered through various dialogues, the Republic
best contains his treatment of the fundamental problem of the
relation of soul and body. There is consequently printed from
it, his presentation of the three faculties of the soul, of the
correlation of the faculties, and of the soul’s immortality. In
Aristotle we have the greatest psychologist of the ancient
world, and the one who first treated psychology as a separate
science. To the introductory account of earlier theories by him,
with which this work began, is’ here added a description from
the ‘De Anima” of his own doctrines. His conceptions of the
essence of the soul, and its relation to the body as form to mat-
ter, of the various activities of the five senses and the common
sense, and of the functions of sensation, imagination, and
thought, are given in full, as their importance demands. From
Diogenes Laertius’ “ Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philoso-
phers”’ is drawn the psychology of the Stoics, in which the ani-
mating principle of the soul is described as a warm breath
within us, with a resultant trichotomy of body, soul and
spirit. From Diogenes Laertius is likewise taken the Epicurean
psychology, in which the soul is conceived to be a bodily sub-
stance composed of exceedingly fine atoms, which are allied in
nature to air and fire, and are diffused throughout the whole
body. Lucretius in the didactic poem on “‘The Nature of
Things,” whereby Hellenistic thought was transferred to Rome,
follows next with a description, like that of Epicurus, of sen-
sation as everywhere occurring in the body; but he regards the
mind as the directing principle ‘‘holding the fastnesses of life.”
From the “Enneades”’ of Plotinus, who was the most eminent
of the Neoplatonists, is reproduced the theory of emanation, in
which the soul is deemed the image and product of the Nous,
just as the Nous is of the One.

In the medieval period, Tertullian, one of the greatest of the
early Christian fathers, sets forth in the extracts presented from

PREFACE vii

his “Treatise on the Soul,” the corporeal nature of the soul, its —
simplicity, its source in the breath of God, its rationality, and
its immortality. Gregory of Nyssa, who wrote in the latter part
of the fourth century, here arguesin the “‘ Endowment of Man,”
that the intellect pervades all parts of the body alike, but has
in itself a divine beauty, since it is created in the image of
the most beautiful. Augustine, in whom the Patristic period
reached its culmination, emphasizes in his work ‘On the
Trinity,” self-consciousness as the distinguishing characteristic
of the mind arising from its immateriality, and regards memory,
understanding, and particularly will, as its most important fac-
ulties. Thomas Aquinas, who represents scholasticism in its
full development, returns in the ‘““Summa Theologica” to the
Aristotelian doctrine of the rational soul as the essential form
of the body, and contends as against Augustine for the superi-
ority of reason to will.

The modern period is introduced with chapters from Thomas
Hobbes’ “Human Nature,” in which the founder of empirical
psychology reduces all mental processes to motions. An ample
presentation is given of Descartes’ ‘The Passions of the Soul,”
of which Professor David Irons says that “‘it would be difficult
indeed to find any treatment of the emotions much superior to it
in originality, thoroughness, and suggestiveness.’”’ Spinoza, who
teaches in ‘‘ The Ethics” that the soul and body are not two
distinct substances, but that thought and extension are two of
the many attributes of the one real being, seeks to prove by
the mathematical method in the part reproduced, that the
order and connection of ideas are identical with the order and
connection of things. From Leibnitz’ “ Philosophical Works”
selections have been made in which he presents his theory of
monads, and likewise illustrates the interaction of soul and
body after the manner of two clocks so constructed as to run
in perfect harmony. Christian Wolff, whose name is chiefly
associated with the faculty psychology, designates in those
sections of the “ Rational Psychology” here chosen, the vzs
repraesentiva as the fundamental force and sufficient ground
for everything that takes place in the soul.

Vili PREFACE

English empirical psychology is next traced through Locke,
Berkeley, and Hume. From Locke’s “Essay on the Human
Understanding” there is given, as Locke believes, ‘the true
history of the beginning of human knowledge,” wherein all our
ideas are derived from sensation and reflection. Berkeley’s
“Essay towards a new Theory of Vision” is reproduced with
desirable fullness, as it contains his noted research into the differ-
ence between the ideas of sight and touch, wherein he draws
the striking inference that the visible world is a visible lan-
guage, which we learn to translate into the tactual experience
that the visible phenomena naturally signify. Hume in the
chapters from the “Treatise of Human Nature” would resolve
all perceptions of the human mind into “impressions” and
“ideas,” differing only in force and liveliness, and also would
derive our conception of necessary connection solely from the
experience of the constant association of certain objects.
Hartley was the chief precursor of English associational psy-
chology, although preceded as he confesses by the modest Gay,
and from the ‘‘ Observations on Man” are reprinted his two
principal doctrines of vibrations, and of association.

Charles Bonnet, the Swiss, and an early founder of physiolo-
gical psychology, in the ‘‘ Analytical Essay upon the Faculties
of the Soul” of which his own “Abstract” has been in part
translated, lays stress throughout on the dependence of psychical
phenomena upon physical conditions, and considers the divers-
ity of mental perceptions as really due to the different struc-
tures of the various sensory fibres. The French psychologist
Condillac, in the chapters from the “Treatise of Sensations,”
views all psychical functions as transformations of sensations,
and graphically illustrates his theory by the endowment of a
marble statue with the different senses of man in succession.
From Reid, founder of the Scotch School of common sense,
those portions of the “Essays on the Intellectual Powers of
Man” are given in which he analyzes the fundamental acts of
sensation and perception, contending that the former is confined
to the soul, but that the latter implies a belief in the existence of
an external world. Brown’s eloquent “Lectures on the Philo-

PREFACE ix

sophy of the Human Mind,” published after his death, contains
a most subtle and brilliant analysis of muscular sensations,
the inclusion of which, it is believed, must add substantial
value to the pages of this work.

With Herbart’s “ Textbook of Psychology” begins scientific
psychological research, in which from the intensive relations of
ideas and the laws of their change it is sought to derive the pos-
sibility and necessity of applying mathematics to psychology.
In Beneke’s “ Textbook of Psychology as Natural Science” a
profound German psychologist seeks to reduce all psychical
phenomena to four “fundamental processes.” Drobisch, who
may be regarded as one of the distinguished representatives of
mathematical psychology, presents in his “ Empirical Psychol-
ogy,” the dynamics of ideas as the fundamental principle of ex-
planation of psychical phenomena. Maine de Biran, whom
Cousin thought the first metaphysician of the nineteenth cent-
ury, has written some most instructive chapters in his “ Essay
upon the Foundations of Psychology,” wherein he treats of
voluntary effort as the primordial fact of our psychical life,
analyzing it into the two distinct but inseparable elements of
will and resistance of our own body, from which he derives the
beginning of personality.

The revival of English associational psychology is to be
found in the chapters taken from James Mill’s “Analysis of the
Phenomena of the Human Mind”’; but its fullest fruition ap-
pears in the laws of association penioducerl at considerable
length from Bain’s‘ ‘The Senses and the Intellect.” The cardi-
nal feature of Spencer’s ““ Principles of Psychology” is here pre-
sented in the evolution of mind “from an indefinite incoherent
homogeneity to a definite coherent heterogeneity.” The selec-
tion from Johannes Mueller’s “ Elements of Physiology” will
render more accessible his very important account of the gen-
eral laws of sensation. A fitting place is naturally given also to
Lotze’s theory of “ local signs” as embodied in his “ Outlines of
Psychology.”

In more recent psychology, translations from Weber’s “ The
Sense of Touch and the Common Feeling” of his well known

ot PREFACE

Law, and from Fechner’s ‘‘ Elements of Psychophysics” of his
“Measurement of Sensation,” are indispensable contributions in
the domain of psychophysics, being the experiments of the former,
well described by Professor E. B. Titchener, as “the founda-
tion stone of experimental psychology,” and the interpretation
of the latter as the erection in large measure of “a whole build-
ing.” The Young-Helmholtz theory of color vision has been
translated from Helmholtz’s “ Manual of Physiological Optics,”
which is regarded as the most important work that has yet ap-
peared on the physiology and physics of vision. “ The Funda-
mental Principles of a Theory of Light Sensation” by Hering
will serve also to supplement those of Helmholtz, as a necessary
foundation for the study of the more recent valuable contribu-
tions which have been made to this subject. From Mach’s
‘Analysis of Sensations” is reproduced his theory of space per-
ception, preceded by an account of the self intuition of the ego,
which “ every student of psychology should know.” Stumpf’s
“Tone Psychology” contains a theory of tonal fusion, written
by a recognised authority in this domain. The remarkable
chapter of William James entitled “The Stream of Conscious-
ness’”’ is taken from his introductory “‘ Psychology.”” Then fol-
lows the James-Lange theory of emotions, in which a novel doc-
trine is set forth by both writers with unusual brilliancy of
style. Most characteristic and authoritative chapters from
Wundt’s “Principles of Physiological Psychology” on the
problem of physiological psychology, and from his “ Outlines of
Psychology” on volition and apperception, conclude the work.
The outline of the selections in the preceding paragraphs
traces the attempt, here made for the first time, to present his-
torically in a single volume original texts containing funda-
mental theories of the classical psychologists, alike in ancient,
mediaeval, and modern times. The study of psychology as pur-
sued to-day in several important divisions might suggest the
desirability of a work of recent material from these various do-
mains. An historical volume of the character of this book was,
however, deemed not only more in harmony with the other works
of the author’s series, but also as much more necessary for the

PREFACE xl

use of students before entering upon investigations in special
fields. Whilst a chronological order has been followed in gen-
eral, slight variations have made it possible to group psycho-
logists somewhat according to their schools, and the emphasis,
moreover, in the most recent period, has been placed on the
selection of those important laws and theories which have al-
ready taken on a classical importance. The selections have
been given with sufficient fullness, it is hoped, always to repro-
duce the author and subject in an intelligible and connected
way. Authorities will differ concerning the choice of authors
and subjects. In this matter important advice has been re-
ceived from the psychologists alike of Harvard University and
also of other large American Universities. Although such valu-
able opinion always has been carefully considered, the responsi-
bility for the final decision naturally rests upon the editor.
Thirteen authors appear in this work in selections trans-
lated for the first time into English. To my colleague Pro-
fessor Edward Kennard Rand, of the classical department of
Harvard University, I am indebted for the translation from the
Latin of “The essence and nature of the soul” contained in
Christian Wolff’s ““ Rational Psychology”; and to Dr. Herbert
Sidney Langfeld of the Harvard Psychological Department for
the translation from the German of “ The measurement of sen-
sation” in Gustav Fechner’s “Elements of Psychophysics.”
The translations from the Greek of Gregory of Nyssa, from the
Latin of Thomas Aquinas, from the French of Charles Bonnet
and Maine de Biran, and from the German of Friedrich Ed-
uard Beneke, Moritz Wilhelm Drobisch, Ernst Heinrich
Weber, Heinrich von Helmholtz, Ewald Hering, Carl Stumpf,
and Carl Lange in the text of H. Kurella, have been made
by the author of this work. In French Professor Irving Babbitt
and Dr. C.J. Ducasse, and in German Prof. W. G. Howard and
Dr. J. Loewenberg of Harvard have made valuable suggestions.
My thanks for permission to reprint selections of various psy-
chologists are also due to the publishers and translators whose
names will be found at the beginning of the respective chapters
accompanying the titles of the works thus utilized. The book

xil PREFACE

will best attain its desired aims if its representative selections
shall serve to inspire the perusal of the complete works of the
classical psychologists, and if it shall aid in any measure to
maintain the importance and prestige of classical psychology.

BENJAMIN RAND,
EMERSON HALL, HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

CONTENTS

ANCIENT

I. ANAXAGORAS (500-428 B.c.), EMPEDOCLES
(490-430), DEMOCRITUS (460-370)

From ARISTOTLE’S DE ANIMA: .: 2. 2 6 8's

Translated from the Greek by R. D. Hicks.
BOOK I. Cuap. I. INTRODUCTION OF ARISTOTLE

BOOK I. Cuap. II. Earty PsycHoLocicaAL THEORIES.

II. PROTAGORAS (480-411), SOCRATES (469-399)

From PLATO’S THEAETETUS .
Translated from the Greck by Samuel Walters Dyde.
THE NATURE OF PERCEPTION .

III. PLATO (427-347)

THE REPUBLIC. .

Translated from the Greek by J. L. Davies bal D. i Westie
BOOK IV. THe THREE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL.
BOOK VI. THE CorRRELATION OF THE FACULTIES
BOOK X. TsE Sout’s ImmMorTALitTy.

IV. ARISTOTLE (384-322)

PSYCHOLOGY . :
Translated from the Greek by William ete H oe

BOOK II. Tue FAcuLties or THE SOUL.
CHAP. I. The Definition of the Soul .
Cap. II. The Principle of Life . . ;
Cuap. III. The Various Meanings of the Soul
Cuap. IV. The Soul and Final Cause .
Cuap. V. Sensation and Thought .
Cuap. VI. Sense Qualities .

BOOK III. SENsatIon, IMAGINATION AND THOUGHT.
CHAP. I. The ‘Common Sensibles’
Cuap. II. The ‘Common Sense’.

' Cuap. III. Imagination .
Cuap. IV. The Theory of Reason
CHAP. V. Active and Passive Reason .
Cuap. VI. Thought and Truth
Cuap. VII. Thought and its Object .
Cuap. VIII. Ideas and Images .

2

11-26

II

27-44

27
36
41

45-83

xIV CONTENTS

Cap. * IX, JReasonand Desire’.-\scycurs ee eetounrenre 78
CuAr. Xe Psychology’and‘Conduct 7.0 3). 2 80
CHar. XI. The Moving Principle ....... 82

V. ZENO (356-264)
From. DIOGENES LAERTIUS’ LIVES AND OPIN-
IONS. OF EMINENT PHILOSOPHERS... . 84-88
Translated from the Greek by Charles D. Yonge.
BOOK VII. Tur PsycHoLoGy OF THE SToOICS. .. . 84

VI. EPICURUS (341-270)

From DIOGENES LAERTIUS’ LIVES AND OPIN-
IONS OF EMINENT PHILOSOPHERS .. . 89-96
Translated from the Greek by Charles D. Yonge.

BOOK X. Tur EpicurEAN PsycHoLtocy. .... . 89
VII. TITUS LUCRETIUS CARUS (05-51)
ONS THES NADURE, OF DHINGS) fcc outs ae sn O7— 505
Translated from the Latin by H. A. J. Munro. E
BOOKS) TI. VEHE- MIND ns <0) 30> lo ereangsip lout bop: lanier 07
VIII. PLOTINUS (205 A.D.-270) ~
ENNBAD ES. etre ee iit 2 aia ee ents ore ease ttea eRLOOmT TN
Translated from the Greek by Thomas Taylor. -
WET MIDS SOUL. “s" ca. cl ouigs ae Seimei Ke me Rann OES 106

WITTEN DHE GINTELUECT. “-stusitite) ou cotihe pus meeumrstitsumte 113

PATRISTIC AND MEDIAEVAL

IX. QUINTUS SEPTIMIUS FLORENS TERTUL-
LIANUS (160-220)

A TREATISE ‘ON THE SOULS! Ms. 32. 2.) axG-r24
Translated from the Latin by Peter Holmes.
CHAP. TVe~ Tee SOUL CREATED ts oto neny eae eatisse ars 116
CHAP. V. THE Sovut’s CorpoREAL NATURE .. . 117
CuHap. X. THe Sour’s SIMPLICITY ah aie ou econ. 118
Caap. XII. THe MIND AND THE SOUL ..... 120
Cap. XVI. THe Souu’s RATIONALITY . .... . 122
CHAP. XXII. RECAPITULATION 2, gihe2 aie. sentence 123
X. GREGORY OF NYSSA (331-394)
THE ENDOWMENT OF MAN. ........ .« 125-131

Translated from the Greek by Benjamin Rand.
Cuap. XII. Tae Location oF THE INTELLECT... 125

CONTENTS XV
XI. SAINT AUGUSTINE (354-430)

ON THE TRINITY . e e ° . e e e o e e 132-137
Translated from the Latin by Arthur West Haddon.
BOOK X. Caap. X. THe NATURE or MinD. . . 132
BOOK X. Cuap. XI. Rerepue UNDERSTANDING, AND
ECE ears ve RMCUMCnNoreeetn tel Toe at sive ic 135
XII. THOMAS ATeeRG (1225-1274)
SUMMA THEOLOGICA ..... Seatac a eaiet AG

Translated from the Latin by Benjamin Rand.
QUESTION LXXVI. RaTIoNALiTy THE ESSENTIAL FoRM
IN Man. . A 138
QUESTION LXXVI. Tee ‘RELATION © OF Sout A AND Bove 143
QUESTION LXXXII. Tue Superiority oF REASON TO

WeRDrcw eit hs Mee berc ti cia ct Scr aiete cies Nino. Tin, cok oth v6 145
MODERN
XIII. THOMAS HOBBES (1588-1679)

PED RIINUAIN NE ONE te fo Nese coher dels se) baie mets of le cE4 T= ROT,
Cap. I. IntRopucTION. . . ce RRetcey 147
Cuap. II. SENSE AND ITS MAIN DECEPTION. ... . 148
Cuap. III. ImacinaTION AND DREAMS ..... . 153
CaApe HIV, “THOUGHT, 2.1 ch erences i tebiget eo 156
CuHap. VI. KNOWLEDGE AND Betier a eperbicogrotrten: 5s 160
Crap Villon LHOWPASSIONS? caete cvs) cc tal lelhee Fa ol a 163
Cuap. XII. THE Wit... SRT ehnc Pr ewete verte 165

XIV. RENE DESCARTES ae

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL ..... .. . 168-190
Translated from the French by Henry A. P. Torrey.

XV. BARUCH DE SPINOZA (1632-1677)

PERE AG PLCS 3 secs ere) ae te eee O L207,
Translated from the Latin by Cine Sth Fullerton.

PART II. OF THE NATURE AND ORIGIN OF THE MIND.
(Prop. I-XXIII, XLVIII-XLIX.) IgI

XVI. GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ
(1646-1716) ;
PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS.... . Seats en 200=226
Translated from the French by George Martin Geen.
XI. A new SysTEM OF NATURE, AND OF THE INTERACTION

OF SUBSTANCES, AS WELL AS OF THE UNION WHICH EXISTS
BETWEEN THE SOUL AND THE BODY. 1695. »« « © « 208

Xvi CONTENTS

XIV. SEconD EXPLANATION OF THE SYSTEM OF COMMUNI-
CATION BETWEEN SUBSTANCES. 1696 . . « .« 218
XXXII. THE PRINCIPLES OF NATURE AND OF GRACE. ms 220

XVII. CHRISTIAN VON WOLFF (1679-1754)

RATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY. .... 2 «6 229-231
Translated from the Latin by Edward Kennard ae
THE ESSENCE AND NATURE OF THESOUL ..... - 229

XVIII. JOHN LOCKE (1632-1704)

AN ESSAY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTAND-
ING fi ebsats ahs ct adore Seem oc wtte ea a ee On itr 2 222k

BOOKS si (CHAP: T-cINDRODUCTION le) us, .- cicteion ten ne 232
BOOK II. Or Ives.

Cuap. (Of IdeasiinsGeneral”- <5) cee, ae 234

Cuap. II. Of SimpleIdeas . . Borer abs cane ive 236
Car. III. Of Simple Ideas of Bence So Sarh pees moana 237
CHap. IV. IdeaofSolidity .. y iscxeees 239
Cuar. VI. Of Simple Ideas of Reflection hak ake < 240
Cuap. VII. Of Simple Ideas of both Sensation and Re-

flection § . 241
Cuap. VIII. Sine Further Gongderations! Goutetams

our Simple Ideas of Sensation. . . . ..... 242
CHAP. TX. -OfPerception mente cnc. ee eae ene 246
CHAP) =X. -Of Complexsideas <7 tt. bent en eee 249

BOOK IV. Or KNowLepcE
Cuap. I. Of Knowledge in General . . . .... 253

XIX. GEORGE BERKELEY (1685-1753)
AN ESSAY TOWARDS A NEW THEORY OF VISION 256-278

XX. DAVID HUME (1711-1766)

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE... . . . 279-312

BOOK I. Of THE UNDERSTANDING.
PART I. Or IprAs, THEIR Oricin, ComposiTIon, Con-

NEXION, &c.
SECTION I. Of the Origin of ourIdeas . .... 279
Section II. Division of the Subject . . ; 285
Section ~ III. Of the Ideas of the ae and ice

tion; 4. ; 286
SECTION Iv. ‘Of the Bousectan or sfessotintion of Tales 287
SECTION VV. Of Relations. . . «ste asti aciagls 290
SEcTION VI. Of Modes and Scheaee. ute iN tmem es 202

PART III. Or KNow.LepcEe AND PROBABILITY.
SECTION I. Of Knowledges: \ inchs cue sieeeucumeiae nts 204

~CONTENTS xvii

Section II. Of Probability; and of the Idea of Cause
and Effect . . mate 207
SEcTION XIV. Of the Idea of Necessary Connexion’; . 302

XXI. DAVID HARTLEY (1705-1757)
OBSERVATIONS ON MAN, HIS FRAME, HIS

DUTY, AND HIS EXPECTATIONS. ©... . . 313-330

PART I. INnrRopUCTION .. . 313
Cuap. I. The Doctrines of Vibrations BS Agistiotion

in General . . 315
Section I. The Tiaccine ef Viktauons aud iG use We

explaining the Sensations . . 316
Section II. Of Ideas, their Gebemlton aad Associa.

EIOOS Re co hale RAT M GA MS nte CRLEESY ao O5) ee ee et ire 320

XXII. CHARLES BONNET (1720-1793)

ABSTRACT OF THE ANALYTICAL ESSAY UPON
THE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL oye eh ae 381-340
Translated from the French by Benjamin Rand.

XXIII. ETIENNE BONNOT DE CONDILLAC
(1715-1780)
TREATISE ON SENSATIONS ..... - +» 341-360
Translated from the French by Frederick C. de ries

Cuap. I-III, VI-VII. First Notions, WILL AND PERSON-
ALITY OF A MAN LIMITED TO THE SENSE OF SMELL oe « 341

XXIV. THOMAS REID (1710-1796)

ESSAYS ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF
IVE AIN Gc oe etter ee ttl ea Seek, WT, OAS ER ce die.: 6 Z0L=393
ESSAY II. OF THE POWERS WE HAVE BY MEANS OF OUR
EXTERNAL SENSES.

Cusp Ven OfPerception,) isi a ei anes cre ale 361
IGHAPS CVE POF Sensation oF.) re tain te ont ek eed: 46 367

XXV. THOMAS BROWN (1778-1820)
LECTURES ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE HU-

IWAN MEND te ore 1 wae : » ©» 374-394
PART II. OF THE EXTERNAL icici ig OF THE MIND.

Cap. V. Section I. The Muscular Sensations. . . 374

Cap. V. Section II. Space Perception . .... 380

PART III. Or tHe INTELLECTUAL STATES OF THE MIND.
Cuap. I. Section II. Simple and Relative Suggestion.' 389

XVill CONTENTS

XXVI. JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART (1776-
1841)
A TEXT-BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY......
Translated from the German by Margaret K. Smith.
PART I. FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES.
Cuap. JI. The Condition of Concepts, when they act as
FOLCES Ai salts :
Cuap. II. Equilibrjam and Movement a Concent
Cuap. III. Complications and Blendings . F
Cuap. IV. Concepts as the Source of Mental States
Cuap. V. The Co-operation of Several Masses of Con-

cepts of Unequal Strength .
Car. VI. The Connection beens Body and) Soul.

XXVII. FRIEDRICH EDUARD BENEKE (1798-
1854)

A TEXT-BOOK OF PSYCHOLOGY AS NATURAL
SCIENCE ees soir
Translated from the German iy Bienen Rand.
CHap. I. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES OF PsycHICAL DE-
VELOPMENT
Cuapr. II. THe Prete Naruse OF THE Pichean
Sou.
Cuap. III. THe Ree OF THE ‘Sour. AND THE ops

XXVIII. MORITZ WILHELM DROBISCH (1802-
1896)

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY ACCORDING TO THE
METHODS OF NATURAL SCIENCE
Translated from the German by Benjamin Rand.
FIFTH SECTION. Tse FUNDAMENTAL EXPLANATION OF
THE PsycHicaL LIFE.
III. Tar Dynamics oF IDEAS AS A PRINCIPLE OF EXPLANA-
TION OF PsyCHICAL PHENOMENA.
§ 138. Interdependence of Psychical Phenomena .
§ 139. The Unity of the Soul as a Bond of Connection of
Psychical Phenomena ; Se
§ 140. The Refutation of the Faculty Concent
§ 141. Ideas as States and not Powers of the Mind
§ 142. The Freedom and Inhibition of Ideas
§ 143. The Inhibition of Opposing Ideas .
§ 144. The Origin of Feelings and Desires :
§ 145. The Equilibrium and Movement of Ideas .
§ 146. The Stages in the Formation of the Spirit .

+ 395-415

395
397

408

4II
413

« 416-431

416

424
426

+ 432-447

432

433
435
437
439
440
442
443
445

CONTENTS xix

XXIX. FRANCOIS PIERRE GONTHIER MAINE
DE BIRAN (1766-1824)

ESSAY UPON THE FOUNDATIONS OF PSYCHO-

TOG YGe a utrecht - viele Uikstitienjee « 449-462
Translated from the French a areata Rand.

Cuap. JI. FAcTtSs OF THE INNER SENSE .. . aha 448

Cuap. II. THe OriciIn oF EFFORT, AND OF Punsonazzry 455

XXX. JAMES MILL (1773-1836)
ANALYSIS OF THE PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN

MINDS Re}. whe LRA, EE MPa 469-482
Cuap. III. THe alors OF awh LON, Sesh uo sens 463
XXXI. ALEXANDER BAIN (1818-1903)
THE, SENSES cAND: -EHE INTEELECT: (.°% ss 483-504
BOOK Il. Tue INTELLEcT. . . . sone 483
Cuap. I. Retentiveness — Law of Contiguity SR 486
Cuap. II. Agreement — Law of Similarity ... . 490
Cuap. III. Compound Association . . ..... 496
Cuap. IV. Of Constructive Association . . . ... 504
XXXII. HERBERT SPENCER (1820-1903)
THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY. .. . . . 505-529
PART II. Tue Inductions or PsycHoLocy.
Cuap. II. The Composition of Mind. . ..... 505
XXXIII. JOHANNES MUELLER (1801-1858)
EEE VEEN TS OF PE Y SIOLOGY 75 ik esos cscs pce 530-544

Translated from the German by William Baly. |
BOOK V. OF THE SENSES.

The General Laws of Sensation . . . . . «© «© «© 530
XXXIV. RUDOLF HERMANN LOTZE (1817-1881)
OUTLINES: OF PSYCHOLOGY 55 cc) 5) 05 ue or 045550
Translated from the German by George Trumbull Ladd.
Cuap. IV. THe INTUITIONS OF SPACE ..... « 545

XXXV. ERNST HEINRICH WEBER (1795-1878)
THE SENSE OF TOUCH AND THE COMMON
PCE EIN Gi caer a dier. sia ee en a ake Ta els Nepag 557-561
Translated from the German by Benjamin Rand.
WEBER S/AW tie A suiteln ‘oll otsimreaiel eh he hixe iimiae'* 557

x CONTENTS

XXXVI. GUSTAV THEODOR FECHNER (1801-
1887)

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOPHYSICS .. . . . . . §62-572

Translated from the German by Herbert Sidney Langfeld.
VII. THE MEASUREMENT OF SENSATION .. . 562
XIV. THe FUNDAMENTAL FORMULA AND THE Mrasune-
MENT: + FORMUTAS tai yxs/its si aren head CPR aba ieee 565

XXXVII. HERMANN VON HELMHOLTZ (1821-
1894)

A MANUAL OF PHYSIOLOGICAL OPTICS . . . 573-581
Translated from the German by Benjamin Rand.

THEORY OF MCOLOR> VISION W207 20 vette) ie chiteny Ocols oe 573
XXXVIII. EWALD HERING (1834- ___)
THEORY OF LIGHT SENSATIONS of. 2°53. « §827596

Translated from the German by Benjamin Rand.
FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF A THEORY OF LIGHT SENS-’

ATION
§ 25. Prefatory Remarks . . oh ue 582
§ 26. The Nature of the Peychonhysical Bre. Sears 585
§ 27. Visual Sensation as Psychical Correlate of Chemical
Processes in the Visual Substance. . . . . .. 587
§ 28. The Deduction of Various Corollaries. . .. . 592

§ 29. The Weight of Visual Sensations . ..... 595

XXXIX. ERNST MACH (1838- )
CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE ANALYSIS OF THE

SENSADIONS = esate ce “1 volgen em SO 7=OLS
Translated from the German by C. M. Williams.

THE SENSATIONS “AS) XLEMENTS (5) - <.\c, sys 507

THE SPACE-SENSATIONS . . . . « sear omh ott 611

XL. CARL STUMPF (1848- __)

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF TONE. .... . .. ao, .« 619-632
Translated from the German by Benjamin Rand.
§ 19. THe DEGREES OF TONAL FUSION f 619

§ 20. THE Cause or TONAL FusIoNn

XLI. WILLIAM JAMES (1842-1910)

PSYCHOLOGY . + « « 633-671

CHap. XI. THE ais OF Castseriheeis ote seats 633
Cuap. XXIV. Emotion SSoeee 655

SEtcin 629

CONTENTS XX1

XLII. CARL GEORG LANGE (1834-1900)

PREC SE MOTIONS Fee ciet cet ess ale) wl witee'« 5) 6072-084
Translated from the German of H. Kurella by Benjamin Rand.
Tue MECHANISM OF THE EMOTIONS. . . © «© « «© © 672

XLII. WILHELM WUNDT (1832- ___)

PRINCIPLES OF PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY 685-696
Translated from the German by Edward Bradford Titchener. «
INTRODUCTION.

§ 1. The Problem of Physiological Psychology . . . . 685
§ 3. Prepsychological Concepts . . . . . 2 e« « « 691

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY ..... 2 « 697-726
Translated from the German by Charles Hubbard J ie
II. PsycatcaL* Compounps.

§ 14. Volitional Processes. . . aieeeite 697
III. INTERCONNECTION OF Psycutca Compounns.
§ 17. Apperceptive Combinations . . . . « « « «.: iI

rg ce ng Sy Eg ew) oo 28 as ee 727

THE
CLASSICAL PSYCHOLOGISTS

ANAXAGORAS EMPEDOCLES
(500-428 B.c.) (490-430)
DEMOCRITUS
(460-370)

From ARISTOTLE’S DE ANIMA

‘Translated from the Greek * by
R. D. HICKS

BOOK I
CHAPTER I—INTRODUCTION OF ARISTOTLE

“ Coenrrion is in oureyes a thing of beauty and worth, and this
is true of one cognition more than another, either because it is
exact or because it relates to more important and remarkable
objects. On both these grounds we may with good reason claim
a high place for the enquiry concerning the soul. It would seem,
too, that an acquaintance with the subject contributes greatly
to the whole domain of truth and, more particularly, to the
study of nature, the soul being virtually the principle of all
animal life. Our aim is to discover and ascertain the nature and
essence of soul and, in the next place, all the accidents belonging
to it; of which some are thought to be attributes peculiar to the
soul itself, while others, it is held, belong to the animal also, but
owe their existence to the soul. But everywhere and in every
way it is extremely difficult to arrive at any trustworthy con-

* From Apwtorédovs Ileoi Yuxfs. Reprinted from Aristotle’s De Anima,
translated by R. D. Hicks. Cambridge, University Press, 1907. .

Zz INTRODUCTION

clusion on the subject. It is the same here as in many other
enquiries. What we have to investigate is the essential nature
of things and the What. It might therefore be thought that
there is a single procedure applicable to all the objects whose
essential nature we wish to discover, as demonstration is appli-
cable to the properties which goalong with them: in that case
we should have to enquire.what this procedure is. If, however,
there is no single procedure common to all sciences for defining
the What, our task becomes still more difficult, as it will then
be necessary to settle in each particular case the method to be
pursued. Further, even if it be evident that it consists in de-
monstration of some sort or division or some other procedure,
there is still room for much perplexity and error, when we ask
from what premisses our enquiry should start, for there are dif-
ferent premisses for different sciences; for the science of num-
bers, for example, and plane geometry.

The first thing necessary is no doubt to determine under
which of the summa genera soul comes and what it is; I mean,
whether it is a particular thing, i.e..substance, or is quality or
is quantity, or falls under any other of the categories already
determined. We must further ask whether it is amongst things
potentially existent or is rather a sort of actuality, the distinc-
tion being all-important. Again, we must consider whether it
is divisible or indivisible; whether, again, all and every soul is
homogeneous or not; and, if not, whether the difference be-
tween the various souls is a difference of species or a difference
of genus: for at present discussions and investigations about
soul would appear to be restricted to the human soul. We must
take care not to overlook the question whether there is a single
definition of soul answering to a single definition of animal; or —
whether there is a different definition foreach separate soul, as
for horse and dog, man and god: animal, as the universal, being
regarded either as non-existent or, if existent, as logically pos-
terior. This is a question which might equally be raised in re-
gard to any other common predicate. Further, on the assump-
tion that there are not several souls, but merely several different
parts in the same soul, it is a question whether we should begin

ARISTOTLE’S DE ANIMA 3

by investigating soul as a whole or its several parts. And here
again it is difficult to determine which of these parts are really
distinct from one another and whether the several parts, or
their functions, should be investigated first. Thus, e.g., should
the process of thinking come first or the mind that thinks, the
process of sensation or the sensitive faculty? And so everywhere
else. But, if the functions should come first, again will arise the
question whether we should first investigate the correlative
objects. Shall we take, e.g., the sensible object before the fac-
ulty of sense and the intelligible object before the intellect?

It would seem that not only is the knowledge of a thing’s
essential nature useful for discovering the causes of its attri-
butes, as, e.g.,in mathematics the knowledge of what ismeant
by the terms straight or curved, line or surface, aids us in dis-
covering to how many right angles the angles of a triangle are
equal: but also, conversely, a knowledge of the attributes is a
considerable aid to the knowledge of what a thing is. For when
we are able to give an account of all, or at any rate most, of the
attributes as they are presented to us, then we shall be in a posi-
tion to define most exactly the essential nature of the thing.
In fact, the starting point of every demonstration is a defini-
tion of what something is. Hence the definitions which lead
to no information about attributes and do not facilitate even
conjecture respecting them have clearly been framed for dia-
lectic and are void of content, one and all.

A further difficulty arises as to whether all attributes of the
soul are also shared by that which contains the soul or whether
any of them are peculiar to the soul itself: a question which it is
indispensable, and yet by no means easy, to decide. It would
appear that in most cases soul neither acts nor is acted upon
apart from the body: as, e.g., in anger, confidence, desire and
sensation in general. Thought, if anything, would seem to be
peculiar to the soul. Yet, if thought is a sort of imagination, or
not independent of imagination, it will follow that even thought
cannot be independent of the body. If, then, there be any of
the functions or affections of the soul peculiar to it, it will be
possible for the soul to be separated from the body: if, on the

4 INTRODUCTION

other hand, there is nothing of the sort peculiar to it, the soul
will not be capable of separate existence. As with the straight
line, so with it. The line, gud straight, has many properties; for
instance, it touches the brazen sphere at a point; but it by no
means follows that it will so touch it if separated. In fact it is
inseparable, since it is always conjoined with body of some sort.
So, too, the attributes of the soul appear to be all conjoined with
body: such attributes, viz., as anger, mildness, fear, pity, cour-
age; also joy, love and hate; all of which are attended by some
particular affection of the body. This indeed is shown by the
fact that sometimes violent and palpable incentives occur with-
out producing in us exasperation or fear, while at other times
we are moved by slight and scarcely perceptible causes, when
the blood is up and the bodily condition that of anger. Still
more is this evident from the fact that sometimes even without
the occurrence of anything terrible men exhibit all the symp-
toms of terror. If this be so, the attributes are evidently forms
or notions realised in matter. Hence they must be defined ac-
cordingly: anger, for instance, as a certain movement in a body
of a given kind, or some part or faculty of it, produced by such
and such a cause and for such and such an end. These facts at
once bring the investigation of soul, whether in its entirety or
in the particular aspect described, within the province of the
natural philosopher. But every such attribute would be differ-
ently defined by the physicist and the dialectician or philoso-
pher. Anger, for instance, would be defined by the dialectician
as desire for retaliation or the like, by the physicist as a ferment
of the blood or heat which is about the heart: the one of them
gives the matter, the other the form or notion. For the notion
is the form of the thing, but this notion, if it is to be, must be
realised in matter of a particular kind; just as in the case of a
house. The notion or definition of a house would be as follows:
a shelter to protect us from harm by wind or rain or scorching
heat; while another will describe it as stones, bricks and tim-
ber; and again another as the form realised in these materials
and subserving given ends. Which then of these is the true phy-
sicist? Is it he who confines himself to the matter, while ignor-

ARISTOTLE’S DE ANIMA 5

ing the form? Or he who treats of the form exclusively? I an-
swer, it is rather he who in his definition takes account of both.
What then of each of the other two? Or shall we rather say
that there is no one who deals with properties which are not
separable nor yet treated as separable, but the physicist deals
with all the active properties or passive affections belonging to
body of a given sort and the corresponding matter? All attri-
butes not regarded as so belonging he leaves to someone else:
who in certain cases is an expert, a carpenter, for instance, or
a physician. The attributes which, though inseparable, are not
regarded as properties of body of a given sort, but are reached
by abstraction, fall within the province of the mathematician:
while attributes which are regarded as having separate exist-
ence fall to the first philosopher or metaphysician. But to
return to the point of digression. We were saying that the
attributes of the soul are as such, —I mean, as anger and
fear, inseparable from the physical matter of the animals to
which they belong, and not, like line and surface, separable in
thought.

CHAPTER II — EARLY PSYCHOLOGICAL THEORIES

In our enquiry concerning soul it is necessary to state the
problems which must be solved as we proceed, and at the same
time to collect the views of our predecessors* who had anything
to say on the subject, in order that we may adopt what is right
in their conclusions and guard against their mistakes. Our en-
quiry will begin by presenting what are commonly held to be in
a-special degree the natural attributes of soul. Now there are
two points especially wherein that which is animate is held to
differ from the inanimate, namely, motion and the act of sensa-
tion: and these are approximately the two characteristics of soul
handed down to us by our predecessors. There are some who

* Aristotle introduces here the first extant history of psychological theo-
Ties.

6 ANAXAGORAS

maintain that soul is preéminently and primarily the cause of
movement. But they imagined that that which is not itself in
motion cannot move anything else, and thus they regarded the
soul as a thing which is in motion. Hence Democritus affirms
the soul to be a sort of fire or heat. For the “‘shapes” or atoms
are infinite and those which are spherical he declares to be fire
and soul: they may be compared with the so-called motes in the
air, which are seen in the sunbeams that enter through our win-
dows. The aggregate of such seeds, he tells us, forms the consti-
tuent elementsof the whole of nature (and herein he agrees with
Leucippus), while those of them which are spherical form the
soul, because such figures most easily find their way through
everything and, being themselves in motion, set other things in
motion. The atomists assume that it is the soul which imparts
motion to animals. It is for this reason that they make life de-
pend upon respiration. For, when the surrounding air presses
upon bodies and tends to extrude those atomic shapes which,
because they are never at rest themselves, impart motion to
animals, then they are reinforced from outside by the entry of
other like atoms in respiration, which in fact, by helping to
check compression and solidification, prevent the escape of the
atoms already contained in the animals; and life, so they hold,
continues so long as there is strength to do this. The doctrine
of the Pythagoreans seems also to contain the same thought.
Some of them identified soul with the motes in the air, others
with that which sets these motes in motion: and as to these
motes it has been stated that they are seen to be in incessant
motion, even though there be a perfect calm. The view of
others who describe the soul as that which moves itself tends in
the same direction. For it would seem that all these thinkers
regard motion as the most distinctive characteristic of the soul.
Everything else, they think, is moved by the soul, but the soul is
moved by itself: and this because they never see anything cause
motion without itself being in motion. Similarly the soul is said
to be the moving principle by Anaxagoras and all others who
have held that mind sets the universe in motion; but not alto-
gether in the same sense as by Democritus. The latter, indeed,

ARISTOTLE’S DE ANIMA so

absolutely identified soul and kind, holding that the presenta-
tion to the senses is the truth: hence, he observed, Homer had
well sung of Hector in his swoon that he lay ‘with other
thoughts.’ Democritus, then, does not use the term mind to de-
note a faculty conversant with truth, but regards mind as iden-
tical with soul. Anaxagoras, however, is less exact in his use of
the terms. In many places he speaks of mind as the cause of
goodness and order, but elsewhere he identifies it with the soul:
as where he attributes it to all animals, both great and small,
high and low. As a matter of fact, however, mind in the sense
of intelligence would not seem to be present in all animals alike,
nor even in all men.

Those, then, who have directed their attention to the motion
of the animate being, conceived the soul as that which is most
capable of causing motion: while those who laid stress on its
knowledge and perception of all that exists identified the soul
with the ultimate principles, whether they recognised a plu-
rality of these or only one. Thus Empedocles compounded soul
out of all the elements, while at the same time regarding each
oneof them as a soul. His words are ‘‘ With earth we see earth,
with water water, with air bright air, but ravaging fire by fire,
love by love, and strife by gruesome strife.”” In the same man-
ner Plato in the Timaeus constructs the soul out of the ele-
ments. Like, he there maintains, is known by like, and the
things we know are composed of the ultimate principles. In
like manner it was explained in the lectures on philosophy,
that the self-animal or universe is made up of the idea of One,
and of the idea-numbers Two, or primary length, Three, pri-
mary breadth, and Four, primary depth, and similarly with all
the rest of the ideas. And again this has been put in another
way as follows: reason isthe One, knowledge is the Two, because
it proceeds by a single road to one conclusion, opinion is the
numberof a surface, Three, and sensation the number of a solid,
Four. In fact, according to them the numbers, though they are
the ideas themselves, or the ultimate principles, are neverthe-
‘ less derived from elements. And things are judged, some by
reason, others by knowledge, others again by opinion and others

8 EMPEDOCLES

by sensation: while these idea-numbers are forms of things.
And since the soul was held to be thus cognitive as well as
capable of causing motion, some thinkers have combined the
two and defined the soul as a self-moving number. ;

But there are differences of opinion as to the nature and
number of the ultimate principles, especially between those
thinkers who make the principles corporeal and those who make
them incorporeal; and again between both of these and others
who combine the two and take their principles from both. But,
further, they differ also as to their number: some assuming a
single principle, some a plurality. And, when they come to give
an account of the soul, they do so in strict accordance with their
several views. For they have assumed, not unnaturally, that
the soul is that primary cause which in its own nature is capable
of producing motion. And this is why some identified soul with
fire, this being the element which is made up of the finest parti-
cles and is most nearly incorporeal, while further it is preémi-
nently an element which both moves and sets other things in
motion. Democritus has expressed more neatly the reason for
each of these facts. Soul he regards as identical with mind, and
this he makes to consist of the primary indivisible bodies and
considers it to be a cause of motion from the fineness of its par-
ticles and their shape. Now the shape which is most susceptible
of motion is the spherical; and of atoms of this shape mind,
like fire, consists. Anaxagoras, while apparently understand-
ing by mind something different from soul, as we remarked
above, really treats both as a single nature, except that it is
preéminently mind which he takes as his first principle; he
says at any rate that mind alone of things that exist is simple,
unmixed, pure. But he refers both knowledge and motion to
the same principle, when he says that mind sets the universe in
motion. Thales, too, apparently, judging from the anecdotes
related of him, conceived soul as a cause of motion, if it be true
that he affirmed the loadstone to possess soul, because it at-
tracts iron. Diogenes, however, as also some others, identified
soul with air. Air, they thought, is made up of the finest parti-
cles and is the first principle: and this explains the fact that the

ARISTOTLE’S DE ANIMA 9

soul knows and is a cause of motion, knowing by virtue of being
the primary element from which all else is derived, and causing.
motion by the extreme fineness of its parts. Heraclitus takes
soul for his first principle, as he identifies it with the vapour
from which he derives all other things, and further says that it
is the least corporeal of things and in ceaseless flux; and that
it is by something in motion that what is in motion is known;
for he, like most philosophers, conceived all that exists to be
in motion. Alcmaeon, too, seems to have had a similar concep-
tion. For soul, he maintains, is immortal because it is like the
beings which are immortal; and it has this attribute in virtue of
being ever in motion: for he attributescontinuousand unending
motion to everything which is divine, moon, sun, stars and the
whole heaven. Among cruder thinkers there have been some,
like Hippon, who have even asserted the soul to be water. The
reason for this view seems to have been the fact that in all ani-
mals the seed is moist: in fact, Hippon refutes those who make
the soul to be blood by pointing out that the seed is not blood,
and that this seed is the rudimentary soul. Others, again, like
Critias, maintain the soul to be blood, holding that it is sentience
which is most distinctive of soul and that this is due to the
nature of blood. Thus each of the four elements except earth
has found its supporter. Earth, however, has not been put for-
ward by anyone, except by those who have explained the soul
to be derived from, or identical with, all the elements.

Thus practically all define the soul by three characteristics,
motion, perception and incorporeality; and each of these char-
acteristics is referred to the ultimate principles. Hence all who
define soul by its capacity for knowledge either make it an ele-
ment or derive it from the elements, being on this point, with
oneexception,in generalagreement. Like, they tell us,is known
by like; and therefore, since the soul knows all things, they say
it consists of all the ultimate principles. Thus those thinkers
who admit only one cause and one element, as fire or air, assume
the soul also to be oneelement; while those whoadmita plurality
of principlesassume plurality also in the soul. Anaxagoras alone
says that mind cannot be acted upon and has nothing in com- |

10 DEMOCRITUS

mon with any other thing. How, if such be its nature, it will
know anything and how its knowledge is to be explained, he
has omitted to state; nor do his utterances afford a clue. All
those who introduce pairs of opposites among their principles
make the soul also to consist of opposites; while those who take
one or other of the two opposites, either hot or cold or some-
thing else of the sort, reduce the soul also to one or other of these
elements. Hence, too, they etymologise according to their the-
ories; some identify soul with heat, deriving jv from Geiv, and
contend that this identity accounts for the word for life; others
say that what is cold is called soul from the respiratory process
and consequent “cooling down,”’ deriving yuvy7 from poe.
Such, then, are the views regarding soul which have come down
to us and the grounds on which they are held.

PROTAGORAS SOCRATES
(480-411) (469-399)

From PLATO’S THEAETETUS

Translated from the Greek * by
SAMUEL WALTERS DYDE

THE NATURE OF PERCEPTION

SOCRATES THEAETETUS
Steph. 152.
Soc. . . . Knowledge is perception, you say?
Theaet. Yes.

Soc. This is surely no trifling matter, for you have likely
given, though in other words, the definition of Protagoras. He
says that man is the measure of all things (avtor ypnudtov
Hétpov dvOpwrrov), both of the existence of things which exist,
and the non-existence of things which exist not (Tov peév dvTwr, as
€oTl, TV O€ 2) OVTMY, @S ovK EcTLV). Have you never read that?

Theaet. Yes, many a time.

Soc. Does he not mean that things exist for me as they ap-
pear (faivntac) to me, and for you as they appear to you, since
you and I are men?

Theaet. So he says, at any rate.

Soc. As it is highly probable that a wise man does not talk
nonsense, let us look for his meaning. Sometimes when the
wind is blowing on all alike is not one of us cold and another
~ not, or one slightly and another exceedingly cold?

Theaet. No doubt.

Soc. In that case shall we say that the wind in itself (av7o 颒
éavtd) is cold or not cold? Or shall we agree with Protagoras
that it is cold to him who is cold and not to him who is not?

Theaet. Protagoras seems to be right.

* From IlAdrwvas Oealryros. Reprinted from The Theaetetus of Plato, trans-
lated by S. W. Dyde. Glasgow, 1899.

12 -PROTAGORAS

Soc. Then it is to each as it appears to him?

Theaet. Yes.

Soc. And what appears is perceived?

Theaet. Truly.

Soc. Then in the case of such things as heat and cold appear-
ance (favracia) and perception are one and the same. Every
such thing, I daresay, exists as it is perceived?

Theaet. That would seem to be so.

Soc. And perception of reality (rod dvros), since it is know-
ledge, can never be false?

Theaet. So it appears.

Soc. Then charmingly keen-witted was it of Protagoras to
_ hint darkly at these things to us of the common crowd, while
telling the truth to his disciples in secret.

Theaet. What do you mean by that, Socrates?

Soc. I shall tell you of a by no means contemptible theory
to the effect that nothing exists purely by itself (ad76 xa@’ adze),
nor can you rightly give anything an exclusive name. If you
speak of the large, you suggest the small, if of the heavy, you
suggest the light, and so on. Nothing, be it either an attribute
(rwvds), or a kind of thing (67oovodv), exists alone (évds).
Moreover, it is inaccurate to speak of existence as the result of
motion, collision and combination, since nothing really exists,
but everything is always in process of change (yiéyvera). On
this point the whole array of wise men, except Parmenides, are
agreed, Protagoras, Heraclitus, Empedocles, also the most
famous names in both kinds of poetry, in comedy Epicharmus,
and in tragedy Homer. When Homer says: Ocean and mother
Tethys are the parents of the gods, he means that all the gods
have sprung from ceaseless movement (fotjs te Kal kivjcews).
Do you not think that this was his view?

Theaet. Yes.

Soc. Could we contend with this mighty host, whose captain
is Homer, without laying ourselves open to ridicule?

Theaet. It would be a risk, Socrates.

Soc. Yes indeed, Theaetetus, since there are good proofs that
what appears to be and comes into existence is produced by

PLATO’S THEAETETUS 13

motion, and what does not exist and perishes is produced by
rest. For example, heat and fire, which produce and nourish
everything else, are themselves produced by friction, which is
motion. Is not that the source of fire?

Theaet. Yes.

Soc. And has not the race (yévos) of animals apHIng from
the same source?

Theaet. It has surely.

Soc. Why, what else? Is not the fashion (€€:s) of the body
destroyed by rest and inaction and preserved largely by exercise
and movement?

Theaet. Certainly.

Soc. And the soul, is it not taught and preserved and im- -
proved by study and practice, which are motions, while through
idleness, neglect and inattention it fails to learn, or what it
learns it forgets?

Theaet. That is true.

Soc. Is motion not a good, then, for soul and body, and rest
the reverse of good?

Theaet. Evidently.

Soc. May I not say further that storms preserve, while still-
ness and calm and all such states of rest corrupt and destroy?
And I am constrained to give this crowning illustration, that so
long as the universe and the golden chain, as Homer calls the
sun, move onward in their course, all things divine and human
manifestly contrive to exist and are preserved; but, if they
should stand still, everything would be destroyed, and then
would come to pass the saying that the whole world is turned
upside down.

Theaet. Your explanation, I think, is clear, Socrates.

Soc. Consider this, my friend, with regard first of all to the
sense of sight. What you call whiteness does not exist in your
eyes nor as an object outside of them, nor could you assign to it
any particular place, for it would then be something fixed and
stationary and not continuously generated.

Theaet. How is that?

Soc. Let us apply our former argument, in which we decided

14 PROTAGORAS

that nothing exists as one thing and utterly by itself, and it will
appear that white, black, or any other colour is produced when
the glance of the eye comes into contact with the proper mo-
tion. What we call a colour is neither the eye nor the object,
but something which arises between them, and is different with
different individuals. Or, would you contend that a colour ap-
pears to you as it does to an animal, a dog for instance?

Theaet. No indeed, I would not.

Soc. Then would you hold that two human beings might
have the same perceptions? Are you not sure, rather, that not
even to yourself does a thing twice appear the same, since both
you and it are continually changing?

Theaet. Yes, I feel sure of that.

Soc. Yet if the object, which we touch and compare in size
with ourselves, be large or white or hot, it would not, when
contrasted with one thing, be different from what it is when
contrasted with another, provided that it itself had suffered no
change. Or, if it is the faculty, whether of measuring or touch,
which is large or white or hot, then, if it were itself unmodified,
it would not be changed merely by experiencing and coming
into contact with different objects. So, you see, our want of
thought leads us into amazing absurdities, as Protagoras and
his school would say.

Theaet. What do you mean by that?

Soc. You will understand what I mean, if I use a simple
illustration. If you take six dice, you would say that they, when
compared with four, were more by half as many again, and
when compared with twelve they were less and only one-half.
Could you deny the truth of that?

Theaet. No indeed.

Soc. Well then, if Protagoras or somebody else says to you,
O Theaetetus, can a thing possibly become more or greater,
unless it be increased? What will you answer?

Theaet. If I answer the simple question as I really think,
I must say No, but in view of what you have just said and to
avoid a contradiction, I must say Yes.

Soc. Well and divinely spoken, friend! And yet it strikes me

PLATO’S THEAETETUS 15

that if you say Yes, it will be with you according to the saying
of Euripides: ‘The tongue will be unrefuted, but the mind not
unrefuted.’

Theaet. True.

Soc. If we had been veteran sophists (Sewvol cal copo/), you
and I, and had carefully scrutinized all the things of the
mind, we would at the very outset have made an abundant
trial of our opponents, as they of us; we would have come up to
the contest warily (co¢uotixds), and there would have been a
clashing of words with words. But, as it is, we are only private
folks whose foremost wish is to behold things as they are (avra
mpos avTa), and to see if our thoughts are consistent or not.

Theaet. That is certainly my desire.

Soc. And mine. Shall we not, then, as we have lots of time,
retrace our steps a little, and examine ourselves calmly and
earnestly, in order to see what these images in us are? The first
of them we shall, I think, decide to be that nothing ever be-
comes more or less either in size or number, while it is equal to
itself. Is not that so?

Theaet. Yes.

Soc. And the second is that that, to which nothing is added
and from which nothing is taken away, is neither increased nor
diminished, but is always equal to itself.

Theaet. Assuredly.

Soc. Is there not a third, that nothing, which did not exist
before, can now exist, without becoming and having become ?

Theaet. Agreed.

Soc. These three postulates, I think, were gine together
in our soul when we spoke of the dice, and are present again in
the following instance: Suppose that you were shorter than I at
the beginning of the year, but taller at the end, not because I
had diminished in size, for men of my age do not change, but
because you, who are young, had meanwhile grown. It is mani-
fest that I was once what I was not afterwards, although I had
not become. For, as to have become is plainly impossible with-
out becoming, I could not have become smaller without losing
in size. And there are thousands of similar instances, if indeed

16 PROTAGORAS

we choose to admit them. I see that you follow me, Theaetetus,
for you are likely not unacquainted with such puzzles.

Theaet. By the gods, Socrates, when I look into them I am
smitten with wonder, and truly sometimes my brain reels.

Soc. So Theodorus made not a bad guess at your disposi-
tion, my friend, since the very state of a philosopher is wonder.
Indeed the man seems to have been a wise genealogist who said
that Iris was the daughter of Thaumas, for wonder is the only
beginning of philosophy. Do you begin to understand what is
the solution of your difficulty on the views which we are ascrib-
ing to Protagoras?

Theaet. Not yet. S

Soc. Will you count it a favour if I examine with you into the
secret reasoning, which is held as the truth by him and other
celebrated men ?

Theaet. I will count it a very great favour.

Soc. Look over the company, so that no profane person may
overhear. For there are people who believe in nothing but what
they can fasten upon with both hands, contending that action
and generation and all the things, which are not seen, do not
exist at all.

Theaet. They must be hardened and repulsive creatures.

Soc. That they are, my boy, utterly illiterate. But it is
another much more subtle sect, of whose mysteries I mean to
inform you. Their first principle, that upon which our state-
ment depends, is that all is motion (76 wav xivnows) or that
nothing exists except motion. There are two kinds (e%5n) of
motion, each unlimited in its range, to act and to suffer or be
acted upon. From the strife and union of these two powers
(Suvdpes) is produced an innumerable brood twofold in its
nature, namely the object of sense, and sense, which is always
connate and coincident with it, object. The sensible percep-
tions are called sight, hearing, smell, the sense of hot and cold,
and also pleasures, pains, desires and fears. These and many
others have names, and there are numberless others without
names. Correlative with sight are colours of all kinds, sounds
with hearing, and with each of the other senses its kindred

PLATO’S THEAETETUS 17

objects. Has this tale anything to do, Theaetetus, with what
has gone before ? Do you know?

Theaet. Socrates, I do not.

Soc. Give heed, then, and you shall see the connection. All
these things, as we have said, are in movement. Now in the
movement of them there are swiftness and slowness. That
which is slow moves in one place, and is affected by.things close
at hand, and so produces, but the things produced by it are
swifter, since their movement is a change of place. Let us sup-
pose that the eye and its corresponding visible object approach
and produce whiteness and the concomitant sensation, a result
which would not take place if either the eye or the object came
into contact with anything else. When the union of these two

- occurs, sight moving from the eye and meeting whiteness mov-
ing from the object, which helps to produce the colour, the eye
becomes filled with vision, and now sees, and becomes not vision
but seeing eye. The object, in turn, having aided in making
the colour, is filled with whiteness, and becomes not whiteness
but white, be it wood or stone or any object, which chanced to
be of this colour. All other sensations, hard, warm and the rest,
must be treated in the same way. Not one of them, as we have
said already, can be understood as having any existence of itself
(avo xa’ avre), but all are produced by movement through
union each with its proper counterpart. There can be no solid
cognition (vojjcaz), as they say, of either the active element or
the passive element taken separately (é? éves); for there is an
active element only as it is found in union with the passive, and
a passive element only as it is found in union with the active.
The uniting and active element, when it comes into contact with
another thing, is to be regarded as passive. Accordingly on all
these counts, nothing, as we said at the outset, exists as one
thing by itself (év avté xa@’ airé), but everything always
becomes for some other thing (vim yiyvec@ar). Being or
existence (706 e?va) must be thoroughly eradicated, though we
are often, as just now, compelled, it would seem, through cus-
tom and ignorance to make use of the term. And yet, according
to the wise (of copot), we must not permit anyone to use such

18 PROTAGORAS

expressions as ‘it’ or ‘of it’ or ‘mine’ or ‘this’ or ‘that’ or any
other name which gives fixity, but only to conform to nature
and say that things become, are in process of creation, and are
being destroyed and changed. Thus, if anyone in an argument
establishes anything, he is easy to refute. Besides, we must
speak in this way not only of separate things but of any collec-
tion, such as man, stone, any species of animal or any genus
(eldos). Do these things seem pleasant to you, Theaetetus,
and have they a grateful flavour?

Theaet. I am sure I do not know, Socrates, for I cannot de-
cide whether you believe what you say or are only making trial
of me.

Soc. You really forget, my friend, that I know nothing and
produce nothing of my own, for I am childless. But I wait on
you, and therefore seek to charm you by giving you to taste of
every philosopher (co¢ds), until at last I may have aided in
bringing your theory out into the light. When this is done, I
shall see whether it is an empty thing or a genuine reality. So,
be bold, and persevere, and answer sturdily to what I ask you.

Theaet. Well then, put your questions.

Soc. Tell me again if you are satisfied that nothing is, but all
is ever becoming, the good and beautiful as well as all the things
which we have just enumerated.

Theaet. To speak frankly, when I hear your argument in
detail, I think it very reasonable and must accept it.

Soc. Let us, then, see the theory completed. It remains to
speak of dreams and diseases, especially madness with its
illusions of sight and hearing and other senses. In all these
cases, as you must admit, the position which we have just taken
seems to be refuted, since manifestly there arise in ourselves
perceptions which are false. Consequently what appears to
each person is far from being real; on the exact contrary not a
single appearance is real.

Theaet. You speak truly, Socrates.

Soc. What argument (Adyos), my boy, is left to him who
holds that sensible perception is knowledge, and that each one’s
appearances (Ta favoyeva) are for him real?

PLATO’S THEAETETUS 19

Theaet. I hesitate to tell you, Socrates, that I do not know
what to say, because you reproved me a moment ago for giving
this answer. Yet I cannot, indeed, argue that madmen and
dreamers think truly, some in supposing that they are gods,
and others in dreaming that they have wings and are flying.

Soc. Do you not perceive that in these cases, especially in
dreams and madness, a rejoinder may be made of this nature?

Theaet. Of what nature?

Soc. You have doubtless often heard it asked: What proof
would you give, if you were questioned at this moment whether
we are sleeping and dreaming all this discussion, or awake and
conversing about a waking thought?

Theaet. Truly, Socrates, it would be hard to prove it, for
sleep and waking are equally real, and one is the counterpart
of the other. There is nothing to prevent our supposing that
we are now talking together in our sleep. And when in dreams
we seem to be telling our dreams, such a state strangely resem-
bles our waking life.

Soc. It is not hard, you see, to carry on the dispute, when it
may be doubted even whether we are asleep or awake. If we
divide time about equally between sleep and waking, in each
period our souls are maintaining that their present opinions
(Odyparta) are true. Thus for one half of our days we say that
some opinions are true, and for the other half that different
opinions are true. Yet we hold fast by both.

Theaet. Clearly.

Soc. Does not the same argument apply to diseases and mad-
ness, except only that the time is not divided equally?

Theaet. True.

Soc. And is the truth to be determined by length or shortness
of time?

Theaet. That would be absurd.

Soc. Can you by any other way clearly show on which side
the truth is?

Theaet. I think not.

Soc. You shall hear, then, what is said about this by those
who determine that what seems (7a Soxodvra) to anyone to be

20 PROTAGORAS

true is true for him. They would put some such question as this
to you, ‘““O Theaetetus, can two things entirely different have
the same quality (Svvayws)?” Their question, let us understand,
is of things not partially but wholly different.

Theaet. Things utterly different cannot possibly have a
quality or anything else the same.

Soc. Must we confess that these things are therefore un-
like?

Theaet. I should say so.

Soc. Suppose that a thing happened to become like or unlike
itself or another thing, shall we say that what is made like be-
comes the same, and what unlike different?

Theaet. We must.

Soc. We said before, did we not, that the active elements
were many and infinite, and likewise the passive elements?

Theaet. Yes.

Soc. And if a thing combines with different things, the pro-
ducts will be different?

Theaet. Surely.

Soc. Let us apply this to you or me or anything, Socrates
sick and Socrates well, for example. Shall we say that these
are like or unlike?

Theaet. Am I to take Socrates sick as one separate whole,
and Socrates well as another?

Soc. You understand exactly; that is what I mean.

Theaet. They are unlike doubtless.

Soc. And different because unlike?

Theaet. Necessarily.

Soc. And will you say the same of Socrates asleep or in the
other states we mentioned?

Theaet. I would.

Soc. Then would I not be affected by any active element in
nature differently in sickness and in health?

Theaet. How could it be otherwise?

Soc. Would not the active element and I, the patient, pro-
duce a different result in each case? |
\ Theaet. Certainly.

PLATO’S THEAETETUS 21

Soc. The wine I drink when I am in health appears to me
sweet and pleasant?

Theaet. Yes.

Soc. It follows from our previous admissions that the active
and passive elements, when they unite, produce sweetness and
the sensation of sweetness. The sensation arising from the
patient renders the tongue percipient, and sweetness moving in
the wine and arising from it meets the healthy tongue, and
causes the wine both to be and to appear sweet.

Theaet. That is the consequence of what we formerly ad-
mitted.

Soc. But when I am sick, does not the object affect a person
who, because unlike, is really different?

Theaet. Yes. ‘

Soc. In that case Socrates and the drinking of the wine pro-
duce a different result, the sensation of bitterness in the tongue
and bitterness moving in the wine. The wine becomes not
bitterness but bitter, and I become not perception but per-
ceiving.

Theaet. Certainly.

Soc. There is no other thing, from which I shall ever receive
the same perception. The perception of different things is
different, and makes him, who perceives, of another nature and
another man. Nor does the object, which affects me, produce
the same result and become the same object, when it comes into
contact with another person. When objects produce different
results in contact with different subjects, they become of an-
other nature.

Theaet. It is true.

Soc. The object and I will not become what we are inde-
pendently of each other.

Theaet. By no means.

Soc. I must become percipient of something when I perceive,
for it is impossible in perceiving to perceive nothing. And when
the object becomes sweet or bitter or something else, it must do
so for some one, since to become sweet and yet sweet for no-
body is not possible.

22 SOCRATES

Theaet. Assuredly not.

Soc. We must conclude that the object and I are or become
only one for the other. Necessity couples us to each other, but
does not couple our joint existence to any other thing or even
to ourselves. Each is bound simply to the other. Accordingly
when a thing is said to be or become, it must be spoken of as for
or of or in regard to something. The argument, which we have
traversed, points out that no one must say, or permit anyone
else to say, that anything is or becomes wholly of itself (ado
éf’ avtod),

Theaet. No, by no means, Socrates.

Soc. When anything, which affects me, exists for me and no
other person, is it not perceived by me and no other?

Theaet. That is evident.

Soc. Then my sensation is true for me since it is inseparable
from my existence. As Protagoras says, I am judge both of the
existence of what is for me and the non-existence of what is not.

Theaet. ‘That seems to be the case.

Soc. If I am infallible and sure-footed in my judgments con-
cerning being (ra évta) and becoming (Ta yeyveweva), how can
I fail to know that of which I am the percipient (aio @nr7\s)?

Theaet. Not in any way.

Soc. Right noble, then, was your decision that knowledge
was nothing else than perception. Homer and Heraclitus with
their crew, who say that all things flow and are in a state of
motion, and the all-wise Protagoras with his view that man is
the measure of all things, and Theaetetus, who concludes from
these theories that knowledge is sensation, are all of one accord.
Is that not true, O Theaetetus? Shall we call this result the
young child at whose birth I have assisted? Or what do you
say? .

Theaet. It must be so, Socrates.

Steph. 184b.
Soc. Once again, Theaetetus, address yourself to our former
inquiry. You answered that knowledge was sensible percep-
tion, did you not?

PLATO’S THEAETETUS 23

Theaet. Yes.

Soc. If some one were to put this question to you, With what
does a man see white and black colours and with what does he
hear high and low tones? you would say, I think, with his eyes
and ears.

Theaet. I should.

Soc. To handle names and terms freely and without critical
minuteness is often a mark of wide culture, and though the
opposite is as a rule churlish, it is sometimes, as in the present
instance, a necessity. For I must indicate a want of exactness
in this very answer. Reflect, is it more correct to say that it
is with the eyes (6¢@adpois) that we see or through them (&’
opGarpov), and that it is with the ears or through them that
we hear?

Theaet. I think ‘through’ is better, Socrates.

Soc. Surely, for it would be a singular thing, my lad, if each
of us was, as it were, a wooden horse, and within us were seated
many separate senses, since manifestly these senses unite into
one nature (/déa), call it the soul or what you will; and it is
with this central form through the organs of sense that we per-
ceive sensible objects.

Theaet. I agree with your view; the contrary would indeed be
singular.

Soc. I am precise with you, in order to find out if it is with
one and the same part of ourselves that we have various im-
pressions, although at the same time through different facul-
ties. Would you, if you were asked, refer all our impressions to
the body? But perhaps you would answer better without my
interference. Tell me, then, do you assign the faculties, through
which you perceive hot and hard and light and sweet, to the
body or to something else?

Theaet. To the body.

Soc. And would you be willing to allow that what you per-
ceive through one faculty (dvvams) you cannot perceive
through another? You cannot, that is, hear through the eye
or see through the ear?

Theaet. I grant that readily.

24 SOCRATES

Soc. If you make a judgment common to the two organs
(dpyava), you cannot perceive it through either of them.

Theaet. Certainly not. .

Soc. In the case of sound and colour you may surely decide
that they both are.

Theaet. Surely.

Soc. Is not each different (€repov) from the other and the
same (ravrov) with itself?

Theaet. No doubt.

Soc. They are two and each is one?

Theaet. I grant that also.

Soc. You would be able to observe whether they are like or
unlike each other?

Theaet. Probably.

Soc. Through what do you make these several judgments?
For it is not possible either through hearing or sight to get any-
thing common to the two (76 xowev). Let us take an illustra-
tion. Suppose it to be a sensible question to ask whether you
judge colours and sounds to be saline or not, you would be able
to say what faculty you would use in order to decide, and this
faculty would be not sight or hearing but some other.

Theaet. Another of course, the faculty of taste.

Soc. That is well said. And what faculty will reveal to you
the common elements not only of sensible qualities, but of all
things, those elements, I mean, which you call being (1d éo7uv)
and not being (76 ov« écrtv) and the others, about which we
were speaking a moment ago? To what organ will you attribute
our perception of each of these?

Theaet. You allude to being (ove/a) and not being (76 py
elvat), likeness (ouoidrns) and unlikeness, the same (70 tavrov)
and the other (76 érepnv), and unity (é) also, and other
numbers applicable to things, and you evidently wish to know
throughwhat bodily instrument the soul perceives odd (zrepirrov)
and even (dptov) and all that is akin to them.

Soc. You follow me surpassingly well, Theaetetus; that is
just what I want.

_ Theaet. Verily, Socrates, I cannot tell what to say, if not that

PLATO’S THEAETETUS a5

these things unlike sensible objects seem to need no special
organ, but that the soul contemplates the common elements
(7a xouva) of all things through itself (&’ atrijs).

Soc. You are beautiful, Theaetetus, and not ill-favoured, as
Theodorus said, for he who says beautiful things, is beautiful and
good. And not only are you beautiful but you have done well in
delivering me from a long harangue, if you are satisfied that
some things the soul contemplates through itself and others
through the bodily faculties. For that was my opinion too, and
I was anxious for you to agree with me.

Theaet. I am convinced of the truth of that.

Soc. On which side would you place being, which is in a
unique way associated with all things?

Theaet. I would place it amongst those things, which the soul
strives to grasp of itself (ca@” airy).

Soc. And would you place there the like and unlike, the
same and the other?

Theaet. Yes.

Soc. And what of the noble and base, good and evil?

Theaet. In this case quite specially the soul views the essence
(ovc’a) of each in relation to its opposite, contrasting within
itself the past and present with the future.

Soc. Stay a moment. Does the soul not perceive the hard-
ness of a hard object through the touch, and in the same way
the softness of a soft object?

Theaet. Yes.

Soc. But the essence and existence of these, and the opposi-
tion of each to the other, and the essence of this opposition, the
soul itself judges, bringing them all together and passing them
in review.

Theaet. Certainly.

Soc. Men and animals from their very birth perceive by
nature those feelings (7a0njuara) which reach the soul through
the body; but reflections (4vaAoyicvara) on the essence of these
and on their use come to those who have them only after effort
and with the lapse of years through education and a wide ex-
perience.

26 SOCRATES

Theaet. That is very true.

Soc. Is it possible to gain truth, if we have no hold of being?

Theaet. Impossible.

Soc. If we fall short of the truth of anything, can we be said
to know it?

Theaet. By no means, Socrates.

Soc. Then in feelings there is no knowledge but only in rea-
sonings (cvAAoyopu0t) upon them, for in reasonings it is pos-
sible to touch being and truth, but in feelings it is impossible.

Theaet. That is evident.

Soc. Do you call reasonings and feelings, the same, when
they differ so widely?

Theaet. That would hardly be just.

Soc. What name do you give to seeing, hearing, smelling,
being cold and being warm?

Theaet. Perceiving, I would call them. I have no other
name.

Soc. Perception then, you say, covers them all?

Theaet. It must.

Soc. And this has no share in truth, because it lays not hold
on being.

Theaet. None.

Soc. Then it has no share in knowledge.

Theaet. No.

Soc. Then, Theaetetus, sensible perception and knowledge
will never be the same.

Theaet. Clearly not, Socrates; indeed it is now quite evident
that knowledge and sensation are different.

PLATO
(427-347)

THE REPUBLIC

Translated from the Greek * by

JOHN LLEWELYN DAVIES AND
DAVID JAMES VAUGHAN

BOOK IV. THE THREE FACULTIES OF
THE SOUL
SOCRATES GLAUCON

Steph. 435.

I PROCEEDED to ask: When two things, a greater and a less,
are called by a common name, are they, in so far as the common
name applies, unlike or like?

Like.

Then a just man will not differ from a just state, so far as
the idea of justice is involved, but the two will be like.

They will.

Well, but we resolved that a state was just, when the three
classes of characters present in it were severally occupied in
doing their proper work: and that it was temperate, and brave,
and wise, in consequence of certain affections and conditions of
these same classes.

True.

Then, my friend, we shall also adjudge, in the case of the
individual man, that, supposing him to possess in his soul the
same generic parts, he is rightly entitled to the same names as
the state, in virtue of affections of these parts identical with
those of the classes in the state.

It must inevitably be so.

* From Il\drwyvos Modrela. Reprinted from The Republic of Plato, translated
by J. L. Davies and D. J. Vaughan, Cambridge, 1852, etc...

28 PLATO

Once more then, my excellent friend, we have stumbled on
an easy question concerning the nature of the soul, namely,
whether it contains these three generic parts or not.

Not so very easy a question, I think: but perhaps, Socrates,
the common saying is true, that the beautiful is difficult.

It would appear so; and I tell you plainly, Glaucon, that in
my opinion we shall never attain to exact truth on this subject,
by such methods as we are employing in our present discussion.
However, the path that leads to that goal is too long and toil-
some; and I dare say we may arrive at the truth by our present
methods, in a manner not unworthy of our former arguments
and speculations.

Shall we not be content with that? For my part it would
satisfy me for the present.

Well, certainly it will be quite enough for me.

Do not flag then, but proceed with the inquiry.

Tell me then, I continued, can we possibly refuse to admit
that there exist in each of us the same generic parts and char-
acteristics as are found in the state? For I presume the state
has not received them from any other source. It would be
ridiculous to imagine that the presence of the spirited element
in cities is not to be traced to individuals, wherever this char-
acter is imputed to the people, as it is to the natives of Thrace,
and Scythia, and generally speaking, of the northern countries;
or the love of knowledge, which would be chiefly attributed to
our own country; or the love of riches, which people would es-
pecially connect with the Phcenicians and the Egyptians.

Certainly.

This then is a fact so far, and one which it is not difficult to
_ apprehend.

No, it is not.

But here begins a difficulty. Are all our actions alike per-
formed by the one predominant faculty, or are there three fac-
ulties operating severally in our different actions? Do we learn
with one internal faculty, and become angry with another, and
with a third feel desire for all the pleasures connected with eat-
ing and drinking, and the propagation of the species; or upon

THE REPUBLIC 29

every impulse to action, do we perform these several operations
with the whole soul? The difficulty will consist in settling these
points in a satisfactory manner.

I think so too.

Let us try therefore the following plan, in order to ascertain
whether the faculties engaged are distinct or —

What is your plan?

It is manifest that the same thing cannot do two opposite
things, or be in two opposite states, in the same part of it, and
- with reference to the same object; so that where we find these
phenomena occurring, we shall know that the subjects of them
are not identical, but more than one.

Very well.

Now consider what I say.

Speak on.

Is it possible for the same thing to be at the same time, and
in the same part of it, at rest and in motion?

Certainly not.

Let us come toastill more exact understanding, lest we should
chance to differ as we proceed. If it were said of a man who is
standing still, but moving his hands and his head, that the same
individual is at the same time at rest and in motion, we should
not, I imagine, allow this to be a correct way of speaking, but
should say, that part of the man is at rest, and part in motion:
should we not?

We should.

And if the objector should indulge in yet further pleasan-
tries, so far refining as to say, that at any rate a top is wholly
at rest and in motion at the same time, when it spins with its
peg fixed on a given spot, or that anything else revolving in the
same place, is an instance of the same thing, we should reject
his illustration, because in such cases the things are not both
stationary and in motion in respect of the same parts of them;
and we should reply, that they contain an axis and a circum-
ference, and that in respect of the axis they are stationary, inas-
much as they do not lean to any side; but in respect of the cir-
cumference they are moving round and round: but if, while the

30 PLATO

rotatory motion continues, the axis at the same time inclines to
the right or to the left, forwards or backwards, then they can-
not be said in any sense to be at rest.

That is true.

Then no objection of that kind will alarm us, or tend at all to
convince us that it is ever possible for one and the same thing,
at the same time, in the same part of it, and relatively to the
same object, to be acted upon in two opposite ways, or to be
two opposite things, or to produce two opposite effects.

I can answer for myself.

However, that we may not be compelled to spend time in dis-
cussing all such objections, and convincing ourselves that they
are unsound, let us assume this to be the fact, and proceed
forwards, with the understanding that, if ever we take a differ-
ent view of this matter, all the conclusions founded on this as-
sumption will fall to the ground.

Yes, that will be the best way.

Well then, I continued, would you place assent and dissent,
the seeking after an object and the refusal of it, attraction
and repulsion, and the like, in the class of mutual opposites?
Whether they be active or passive processes will not affect the
question.

Yes, I should.

Well, would you not, without exception, include hunger and
thirst, and the desires generally, and likewise willing and wish-
ing, somewhere under the former of those general terms just
mentioned? For instance, would you not say that the mind of a
man under the influence of desire always either seeks after the
object of desire, or attracts to itself that which it wishes to have;
or again, so far as it wills the possession of anything, it assents
inwardly thereto, as though it were asked a question, longing for
the accomplishment of its wish?

I should.

Again: shall we not class disinclination, unwillingness, and
dislike, under the head of mental rejection and repulsion, and of
general terms wholly opposed to the former?

Unquestionably. ;

THE ‘REPUBLIC 31

This being the case, shall we say that desires form a class,
the most marked of which are what we call thirst and hunger?

We shall.

The one being a desire of drink, and the other of food?

Yes.

Can thirst then, so far as it is thirst, be an internal desire
of anything more than drink? That is to say, is thirst, as such,
a thirst for hot drink or cold, for much or little, or, in one word,
for any particular kind of drink? Or, will it not rather be true
that, if there be heat combined with the thirst, the desire of
cold drink will be superadded to it, and if there be cold, of hot
drink; and if owing to the presence of muchness, the thirst be
great, the desire of much will be added, and if little, the desire
of little: but that thirst in itself cannot be a desire of anything
else than its natural object, which is simple drink, or again,
hunger, of anything but food?

You are right, he replied; every desire in itself has to do with
its natural object in its simply abstract form, but the accesso-
ries of the desire determine the quality of the object.

Let not any one, I proceeded, for want of consideration on
our part, disturb us by the objection, that no one desires drink
simply, but good drink, nor food simply, but good food; be-
cause, since all desire good things, if thirst is a desire, it must
be a desire of something good, whether that something, which
is its object, be drink or anything else; — an argument which
applies to all the desires.

True, there might seem to be something in the objection.

Recollect, however, that in the case of all essentially correla-
tive terms, when the first member of the relation is qualified,
the second is also qualified, if I am not mistaken; — when the
first is abstract, the second is also abstract.

I do not understand you.

Do you not understand that ‘greater’ is a relative term, im-
plying another term?

Certainly.

It implies a ‘less,’ does it not?

Yes.

32 PLATO

And a much greater implies a much less, does it not?

Yes.

Does a once greater also imply a once less, and a future
greater a future less?

Inevitably.

Does not the same reasoning apply to the correlative terms,
‘more’ and ‘fewer,’ ‘double’ and ‘half,’ and all relations of ©
quantity; also to the terms, ‘heavier’ and ‘lighter,’ ‘quicker’
and ‘slower;’ and likewise to ‘cold’ and ‘hot,’ and all similar
epithets?

Certainly it does.

But how is it with the various branches of scientific know-
ledge? Does not the same principle hold? That is, knowledge
in the abstract is knowledge simply of the knowable, or of what-
ever that be called which is the object of knowledge; but a par-
ticular science, of a particular kind, has a particular object of a
particular kind. To explain my meaning: — as soon as a science
of the construction of houses arose, was it not distinguished
from other sciences, and therefore called the science of building?

Undoubtedly.

And is it not because it is of a particular character, which no
other science possesses?

Yes.

And is not its particular character derived from the particu-
lar character of its object? and may we not say the same of all
the other arts and sciences?

We may.

This then you are to regard as having been my meaning
before; provided, that is, you now understand that in the case
of all correlative terms, if the first member of the relation is
abstract, the second is also abstract; if the second is qualified,
the first is also qualified. I do not mean to say that the qualities
of the two are identical, as for instance, that the science of
health is healthy, and the science of disease diseased; or that
the science of evil things is evil, and of good things good: but as
soon as science, instead of limiting itself to the abstract object
of science, became related toa particular kind of object, namely,

THE REPUBLIC 33

in the present case, the conditions of health and disease, the re-
sult was that the science also came to be qualified in a certain
manner, so that it was no longer called simply science, but, by
the addition of a qualifying epithet, medical science.

I understand, and I think what you say is true.

To recur to the case of thirst, I continued, do you not con-
sider this to be one of the things whose nature it is to have an
object correlative with themselves, assuming that there is such
a thing as thirst?

I do, and its object is drink.

Then, for any particular kind of drink there is a particular
kind of thirst; but thirst in the abstract is neither for much
drink, nor for little, neither for good drink nor for bad, nor, in
one word, for any kind of drink, but simply and absolutely
thirst for drink, is it not?

Most decidedly so.

Then the soul of a thirsty man, in so far as he is thirsty, has
no other wish than to drink; but this it desires, and towards this
it is impelled.

Clearly so.

Therefore, whenever anything pulls back a soul that is under
the influence of thirst, it will be something in the soul distinct
from the principle which thirsts, and which drives it like a beast
to drink: for we hold it to be impossible that the same thing
should, at the same time, with the same part of itself, in refer-
ence to the same object, be doing two opposite things.

Certainly it is.

Just as, I imagine, it would not be right to say of the bowman,
that his hands are at the same time drawing the bow towards
him, and pushing it from him; the fact being, that one of his
hands pushes it from him, and the other pulls it to him.

Precisely so.

Now, can we say that people sometimes are thirsty, and yet
do not wish to drink?

Yes, certainly; it often happens to many people.

What then can one say of them, except that their soul con-
tains one principle which commands, and another which for-

34 PLATO

bids them to drink, the latter being distinct from and stronger
than the former?

That is my opinion.

Whenever the authority which forbids such indulgences
grows up in the soul, is it not engendered there by reasoning;
while the powers which lead and draw the mind towards them,
owe their presence to passive and morbid states?

It would appear so.

Then we shall have reasonable grounds for assuming that
these are two principles distinct one from the other, and for
giving to that part of the soul with which it reasons the title of
the rational principle, and to that part with which it loves and
hungers and thirsts, and experiences the flutter of the other de-
sires, the title of the irrational and concupiscent principle, the
ally of sundry indulgences and pleasures.

Yes, he replied: it will not be unreasonable to think so.

Let us consider it settled, then, that these two specific parts
exist in the soul. But now, will spirit, or that by which we feel
indignant, constitute a third distinct part? If not, with which
of the two former has it a natural affinity?

Perhaps with the concupiscent principle.

But I was once told a story, which I can quite believe, to the
effect, that Leontius, the son of Aglaion, as he was walking up
from the Pirzus, and approaching the northern wall from the
outside, observed some dead bodies on the ground, and the.
executioner standing by them. He immediately felt a desire to
look at them, but at the same time loathing the thought he
tried to divert himself from it. For some time he struggled
with himself, and covered his eyes, till at length, over-mastered
by the desire, he opened his eyes wide with his fingers, and run-
ning up to the bodies, exclaimed, ‘There! you wretches! gaze
your fill at the beautiful spectacle!’

I have heard the anecdote too.

This story, however, indicates that anger sometimes fights
against the desires, which implies that they are two distinct
principles.

_ True, it does indicate that.

THE REPUBLIC 35

And do we not often observe in other cases that when a man
is overpowered by his desires against the dictates of his reason,
he reviles himself, and resents the violence thus exerted within
him, and that, in this struggle of contending parties, the spirit
sides with the reason? But that it should make common cause
with the desires, when the reason pronounces that they ought
not to act against itself, is a thing which I suppose you will not
profess to have experienced yourself, nor yet, I imagine, have
you ever noticed it in any one else.

No, I am sure I have not.

Well, and when any one thinks he is in the wrong, is he not,
in proportion to the nobleness of his character, so much the less
able to be angry at being made to suffer hunger or cold or any
similar pain at the hands of him whom he thinks justified in so
treating him; his spirit, as I describe it, refusing to be roused
against his punisher?

True.

On the other hand, when any one thinks he is wronged, does
he not instantly boil and chafe, and enlist himself on the side of
what he thinks to be justice; and whatever extremities of hun-
ger and cold and the like he may have to suffer, does he not
endure till he conquers, never ceasing from his noble efforts,
till he has either gained his point, or perished in the attempt,
or been recalled and calmed by the voice of reason within, as a
dog is called off by a shepherd?

Yes, he replied, the case answers very closely to your de-
scription; and in fact, in our city we made the auxiliaries, like
sheep-dogs, subject to the rulers, who are as it were the shep-
herds of the state.

You rightly understand my meaning. But try whether you
also apprehend my next observation.

What is it?

That our recent view of the spirited principle is exactly
reversed. Then we thought it had something of the concupis-
cent character, but now we say that, far from this being the
case, it much more readily takes arms on the side of the rational
principle in the party conflict of the soul.

36 PLATO

Decidedly it does.

Is it then distinct from this principle also; or is it only a mod-
ification of it, thus making two instead of three distinct princi-
ples in the soul, namely, the rational and the concupiscent?
Or ought we to say that, as the state was held together by three
great classes, the producing class, the auxiliary, and the delib-
erative, so also in the soul the spirited principle constitutes a
third element, the natural ally of the rational principle, if it be
not corrupted by evil training?

It must be a third, he replied.

Yes, I continued; if it shall appear to be distinct from the ra-
tional principle, as we found it different from the concupiscent.

Nay, that will easily appear. For even in little children any
one may see this, that from their very birth they have plenty
of spirit, whereas reason is a principle to which most men only
attain after many years, and some, in my opinion, never.

Upon my word you have well said. In brute beasts also one
may see what you describe exemplified. And besides, that pas-
sage in Homer, which we quoted on a former occasion, will sup-
port our view:

‘Smiting his breast, to his heart thus spake he in accents of chiding.’

For in this line Homer has distinctly made a difference between
the two principles, representing that which had considered the
good or the evil of the action as rebuking that which was in-
dulging in unreflecting resentment.

You are perfectly right. ;

Here then, I proceeded, after a hard struggle, we have, though
with difficulty, reached the land; and we are pretty well satis-
fied that there are corresponding divisions, equal in number,
in a state, and in the soul of every individual.

° : . ° ° ° . . ° ° .- 4

BOOK VI. THE CORRELATION OF THE FACULTIES

Steph. 508 D.

Just in the same way understand the condition of the soul

to be as follows. Whenever it has fastened upon an object, over
which truth and real existence are shining, it seizes that object

THE REPUBLIC a7

by an act of reason, and knows it, and thus proves itself to be
possessed of reason: but whenever it has fixed upon objects
that are blent with darkness, — the world of birth and death, —
then it rests in opinion, and its sight grows dim, as its opinions
shift backwards and forwards, and it has the appearance of
being destitute of reason.

True it has.

Now, this power, which supplies the objects of fel know-
ledge with the truth that is in them, and which renders to him
who knows the faculty of knowing them, you must consider to
be the essential form of good, and you must regard it as the
origin of science, and of truth, so far as the latter comes within
the range of knowledge; and though knowledge and truth are
both very beautiful things, you will be right in looking upon
good as something distinct from them, and even more beautiful.
And just so, in the analogous case, it is right to regard light and
vision so resembling the sun, but wrong to identify them with
the sun; so, in the case of science and truth, it is right to regard
both of them as resembling good, but wrong to identify either
of them with good; because, on the contrary, the quality of
good ought to have a still higher value set upon it.

That implies an irrepressible beauty, if it not only is the
source of science and truth, but also surpasses them in beauty;
for, I presume, you do not mean by it pleasure.

Hush! I exclaimed, not a word of that. But you had better
examine the illustration further, as follows.

Shew me how.

I think you will admit that the sun ministers to visible
objects, not only the faculty of being seen, but also their vital-
ity, growth, and nutriment, though it is not itself equivalent
to vitality.

Of course it is not.

Then admit that, in like manner, the objects of knowledge
not only derive from the good the gift of being known, but are
further endowed by it witha real and essential existence; though
the good, far from being identical with real existence, actually
transcends it in dignity and power.

38 PLATO

Hereupon Glaucon exclaimed with a very amusing air, Good
heavens! what a miraculous superiority!

Well, I said, you are a person to blame, because you compel
me to state my opinions on the subject.

Nay, let me entreat you not to stop, till you have at all events
gone over again your similitude of the sun, if you are leaving
anything out.

Well, to say the truth, I am leaving out a great deal.

Then pray do not omit even a trifle. )

I fancy I shall leave much unsaid; however, if I can help it
under the circumstances, I will not intentionally make any
omission.

Pray do not.

Now understand that, according to us, there are two powers
reigning, one over an intellectual, and the other over a visible
region and class of objects; — if I were to use the term ‘firma-
ment,’ you might think I was playing on the word. Well then,
are you in possession of these as two kinds, — one visible, the
other intellectual?

Yes, I am.

Suppose you take a line divided into two unequal parts, —
one to represent the visible class of objects, the other the intel-
lectual, — and divide each part again into two segments on the
same scale. Then, if you make the lengths of the segments re-
present degrees of distinctness or indistinctness, one of the two
segments of the part which stands for the visible world will
represent all images: — meaning by images, first of all, shad-
ows; and, in the next place, reflections in water, and in close-
grained, smooth, bright substances, and everything of the
kind, if you understand me.

Yes, I do understand.

Let the other segment stand for the real objects correspond-
ing to these images, — namely, the animals about us, and the
whole world of nature and of art.

Very good.

Would you also consent to say that, with reference to this
class, there is, in point of truth and untruthfulness, the same

THE REPUBLIC 39

distinction between the copy and the original, that there is be-
tween what is matter of opinion and what is matter of know-
ledge?

Certainly I should.

Then let us proceed to consider how we must divide that part
of the whole line which represents the intellectual world.

How must we do it?

Thus: one segment of it will represent what the soul is com-
pelled to investigate by the aid of the segments of the other
part, which it employs as images, starting from hypotheses,
and travelling not to a first principle, but to a conclusion. The
other segment will represent the objects of the soul, as it makes
its way from an hypothesis to a first principle which is not hy-
pothetical, unaided by those images which the former division
employs, and shaping its journey by the sole help of real essen-
tial forms.

I have not understood your description so well as I could
wish.

Then we will try again. You will understand me more easily
when I have made some previous observations. I think you
know that the students of subjects like geometry and calcula-
tion, assume by way of materials, in each investigation, all
odd and even numbers, figures, three kinds of angles, and
other similar data. These things they are supposed to know,
and having adopted them as hypotheses, they decline to
give any account of them, either to themselves or to others,
on the assumption that they are self-evident; and, making
these their starting point, they proceed to travel through the
remainder of the subject, and arrive at last, with perfect
unanimity, at that which they have proposed as the object of
investigation.

I am perfectly aware of the fact, he replied.

Then you also know that they summon to their aid visible
forms, and discourse about them, though their thoughts are
_ busy not with these forms, but with their originals, and though
_they discourse not with a view to the particular square and
diameter which they draw, but with a view to the absolute

40 PLATO

square and the absolute diameter, and so on. For while they
employ by way of images those figures and diagrams afore-
said, which again have their shadows and images in water, they
are really endeavoring to behold those abstractions which a per-
son can only see with the eye of thought.

Boe LEU:

* This, then, was the class of things which I called intellectual;
but I said that the soul is constrained to employ hypotheses
while engaged in the investigation of them, — not travelling
to a first principle, (because it is unable to step out of, and
mount above, its hypotheses,) but using, as images, just the
copies that are presented by things below, — which copies, as
compared with the originals, are vulgarly esteemed distinct and
valued accordingly.

I understand you to be speaking of the subject-matter of the
various branches of geometry and the kindred arts.

Again, by the second segment of the intellectual world
understand me to mean all that the mere reasoning process
apprehends by the force of dialectic, when it avails itself of
hypotheses not as first principles, but as genuine hypotheses,
that is to say, as stepping-stones and impulses, whereby it may
force its way up to something that is not hypothetical, and ar-
rive at the first principle of everything, and seize it in its grasp;
which done, it turns round, and takes hold of that which takes
hold of this first principle, till at last it comes down to a conclu-
sion, calling in the aid of no sensible object whatever, but sim-
ply employing abstract, self-subsisting forms, and terminating
in the same. l

I do not understand you so well as I could wish, for I believe
you to be describing an arduous task; but at any rate I under-
stand that you wish to declare distinctly, that the field of real
existence and pure intellect, as contemplated by the science of
dialectic, is more certain than the field investigated by what
are called the arts, in which hypotheses constitute first princi-
ples, which the students are compelled, it is true, to contem-
plate with the mind and not with the senses; but, at the same
time, as they do not come back, in the course of inquiry, to a

THE REPUBLIC 4I

first principle, but push on from hypothetical premises, you
think that they do not exercise pure reason on the questions
that engage them, although taken in connexion with a first
principle these questions come within the domain of the pure
reason. And I believe you apply the term understanding, not
pure reason, to the mental habit of such people as geometri-
cians, — regarding understanding as something intermediate
between opinion and pure reason.

You have taken in my meaning most satisfactorily; and I beg
you will accept these four mental states, as corresponding to
the four segments, — namely pure reason corresponding to the
highest, understanding to the second, belief to the third, and
conjecture to the last; and pray arrange them in gradation,
and believe them to partake of distinctness in a degree corre-
sponding to the truth of their respective objects.

I understand you, said he. I quite agree with you, and will
arrange them as you desire.

BOOK X. THE SOUL’S IMMORTALITY

Steph. 609.

Acatn: do you maintain that everything has its evil, and its
good? Do you say, for example, that the eyes are liable to the
evil of ophthalmia, the entire body to disease, corn to mildew,
timber to rot, copper and iron to rust, or, in other words, that
almost everything is liable to some connatural evil and malady?

I do.

And is it not the case that, whenever an object is attacked
by one of these maladies, it is impaired, and, in the end, com-
pletely broken up and destroyed by it?

Doubtless it is so.

Hence everything is destroyed by its own connatural evil
and vice; otherwise, if it be not destroyed by this, there is no-
thing else that can corrupt it. For that which is good will never
destroy anything, nor yet that which is neither good nor evil.

Of course not.

If then we can find among existing things one which is liable

42 PLATO

to a particular evil, which can indeed mar it, but cannot break
it up or destroy it, shall we not be at once certain that a thing
so constituted can never perish?

That would be a reasonable conclusion.

Well, then, is not the soul liable to a malady which renders it
evil ? F

Certainly it is; all those things which we were lately discuss-
ing, — injustice, intemperance, cowardice, and ignorance, —
produce that result.

That being the case, does any one of these things bring about
the dissolution and destruction of the soul? Turn it over well
in your mind, that we may not be misled by supposing that,
when the crimes of the unjust and foolish man are found out,
he is destroyed by his injustice, which is a depraved state of the
soul. No, consider the case thus. The depravity of the body,
that is to say, disease, wastes and destroys the body, and re-
duces it to a state in which it ceases to be a body; and all the
things, which we named just now, are brought by their own
proper vice, which corrupts them by its adhesion or indwelling,
to a state in which they cease to exist. I am right, am I not ?

Yes.

Then proceed to examine the soul on the same method. Is
it true that, when injustice and other vices reside in the soul,
they corrupt and wither it by contact or indwelling, until they
have brought it to death, and severed it from the body?

Certainly, they do not produce that effect.

Well but, on the other hand, it is irrational to suppose that
a thing can be destroyed by the depravity of another thing,
though it cannot be destroyed by its own.

True, it is irrational.

Yes it is, Glaucon; for you must remember that we do not
imagine that a body is to be destroyed by the proper depravity -
of its food, whatever that may be, whether mouldiness or rot-
tenness or anything else. But if the depravity of the food itself
produces in the body a disorder proper to the body, we shall
assert that the body has been destroyed by its food remotely,
but by its own proper vice, or disease, immediately: and we

THE REPUBLIC 43

shall always disclaim the notion that the body can be corrupted
by the depravity of its food, which is a different thing from the
body, — that is to say, the notion that the body can be cor-
rupted by an alien evil, without the introduction of its own
native evil.

You are perfectly correct.

Then according to the same reasoning, I continued, unless
depravity of body introduces into the soul depravity of soul,
let us never suppose that the soul can be destroyed by an alien
evil without the presence of its own peculiar disease; for that
would be to suppose that one thing can be destroyed by the
evil of another thing.

That is a reasonable statement.

Well then, let us either refute this doctrine and point out
our mistake, or else, so long as it remains unrefuted, let us
never assert that a fever, or any other disease, or fatal vio-
lence, or even the act of cutting up the entire body into the
smallest possible pieces, can have any tendency to destroy the
soul, until it has been demonstrated, that, in consequence of
this treatment of the body, the soul itself becomes more unjust
and more unholy. For, so long as a thing is exempt from its own
proper evil, while an evil foreign to it appears in another sub-
ject, let us not allow it to be said that this thing, whether it be
a soul or anything else, is in danger of being destroyed.

Well, certainly no one will ever prove that the souls of the
dying become more unjust in consequence of death.

But in case any one should venture to encounter the argu-
ment, and to assert that the dying man becomes more depraved
and unjust, in order to save himself from being compelled to.
admit that the soul is immortal, I suppose we shall infer that,
if the objector is right, injustice is as fatal as a disease to its

‘possessor; and we shall expect those who catch this essentially
deadly disorder to die by its agency, quickly or slowly, accord-
ing to the violence of the attack; instead of finding, as we do at
present, that the unjust are put to death in consequence of their
injustice, by the agency of other people who punish them for
their crimes.

4A PLATO

Then really, said he, injustice cannot be thought sucha very
dreadful thing, if it is to be fatal to its owner; because in that
case it will be a release from evils. But I am inclined to think
that, on the contrary, we shall find that it kills other people
if it can, while it endows its possessor with peculiar vitality,
and with sleeplessness as well as vitality. So widely and per-
manently is it removed, to all appearance, from any tendency
to destroy its owner.

You say well, I replied. For surely when the soul cannot be
killed and destroyed by its own depravity and its own evil,
hardly will the evil, which is charged with the destruction of
another thing, destroy a soul or anything else, beyond its own
appropriate object.

Yes, hardly; at least that is the natural inference. -

Hence, as it is destroyed by no evil at all, whether foreign
to it or its own, itis clear that the soul must be always existing,
and therefore immortal.

It must.

Well then, I continued, let us consider this proved. And, if
so, you understand that the souls that exist must be always the
same. For, if none be destroyed, they cannot become fewer.
Nor yet can they become more numerous; because if any class
of things immortal became more numerous, you know that
something mortal must have contributed to swell its numbers;
in which case, everything would finally be immortal.

True.

But reason will forbid our entertaining this opinion, which
we must therefore disavow. On the other hand, do not let us
imagine that the soul in its essential nature, and viewed by
itself, can possibly be fraught with abundance of variety, un-
likeness, and disagreement.

What do you mean?

A thing cannot easily be eternal, as we have just proved the
soul to be, if it is compounded of many parts, and if the mode
of composition employed is not the very best.

Probably it cannot.

ARISTOTLE
(384-322)

PSYCHOLOGY

Translated from the * Greek by
WILLIAM ALEXANDER HAMMOND

BOOK II. THE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL

CHAPTER I. DEFINITION OF THE SOUL

412a
LET the foregoing { suffice as a discussion of the traditional
theories of the soul; and now let us resume our subject from the
start, and attempt to determine the nature of the soul and its
most general definition. One class of realities we call ‘sub-
stance.’ This ‘substance’ may be regarded on the one hand as
matter, which in itself is no definite thing; on the other hand,
as form and idea, in terms of which definite individuality is
ascribed to a thing. A third meaning of substance is the com-
posite of matter and form. Matter is potentiality; form is
actuality or realization. The latter may be looked at in two
ways, either as complete realization, — comparable with per-
fected knowledge, or as realization in process, — comparable
with the activity of contemplation. The notion of substance
appears to be most generally employed in the sense of body,
and particularly of physical body; for this is the source of all
other bodies. Some physical bodies have, and others have not,
life. By life we understand an inherent principle of nutrition,
growth, and decay. So that every natural body endowed with
life would be substance, and substance in this composite sense.
* From Apirédous rept yuxijs. Reprinted from Aristotle’s Psychology, A
Treatise on the Principle of Life, translated by W. A. Hammond, London,
Swan Sonnenschein & Co. Ltd. 1902.
... [ Supra, pp. 5-11.

46 ARISTOTLE

The body, therefore, would not be soul, since body is of such
nature that life is an attribute of it. For body is not predicated
of something else, but is rather itself substrate and matter.
The soul must, then, be substance in this sense: it is the form of
a natural body endowed with the capacity of life. In this mean-
ing substance is the completed realization. Soul, therefore, will
be the completed realization of a body such as described. Com-
plete realization is employed in two senses. In the one sense it
is comparable with perfected knowledge; in another, it is com-
parable with the active process of contemplation. It is evident
that we mean by it here that realization which corresponds to
perfected knowledge. Now, both waking and sleeping are in-
cluded in the soul’s existence: waking corresponds to active
contemplation; sleep to attained and inactive knowledge. Ina
given case science is earlier in origin than observation. Soul,
then, is the first entelechy of a natural body endowed with the
capacity of life. Such a body one would describe as organic.
The parts of plants are also organs, although quite simple in
character, e.g. the leaf is the covering of the pericarp, and the
pericarp is covering of the fruit; the roots are analogous to
mouths, both being channels of nutrition. If then we were
obliged to give a general description applicable to all soul or
life, we should say that it is the first entelechy of a natural or-
ganic body. It is therefore unnecessary to ask whether body
and soul are one, as one should not ask whether the wax and the
figure are one, or, in general, whether the matter of a particular
thing and the thing composed of it are one. For although unity
and being are predicated in several senses, their proper sense is
that of perfect realization.

We have now given a general definition of the soul. We have
defined it as an entity which realizes an idea. It is the essential
notion which we ascribe to a body of a given kind. As an illus-
tration, suppose that an instrument, e.g. an axe, were a natural
body. Here the notion of axe constitutes its essential nature or
reality, and this would be its soul. Were this taken away it
would no longer be an axe, except in the sense of a homonym.
It is in reality, however, merely an axe, and of a body of this

PSYCHOLOGY 47

sort soul is not the notional essence and the idea, but soul ap-
plies only to a natural body of a given kind, viz. a body whose
principle of movement and rest is in itself. The principle ex-
pressed here should be observed in its application to particular
parts of the body. For if the eye were an animal, vision would
be its soul, z.e. vision is the notional essence of the eye. The eye,
however, is the matter of vision, and if the vision be wanting
the eye is no longer an eye, save in the meaning of a homonym,
as a stone eye or a painted eye. What applies here to a particu-
lar member, must also apply to the entire living body; for as the
particular sensation is related to the particular organ of sense,
so is the whole of sensation related to the entire sensitive organ-
ism, in so far as it has sensation. ‘Potentiality of life’ does not
refer to a thing which has become dispossessed of soul, but to
that which possesses it. Seed and fruit are potentially living
bodies. As cutting is the realization of the axe, and vision is the
realization of the eye, so is the waking state the realization of
the living body; and as vision and capacity are related to the
organ, so is the soul related to the body. Body is the potential
substrate. But as vision and pupil on the one hand constitute
the eye, so soul and body in the other case constitute the living
animal. It is, therefore, clear that the soul is not separable from
the body; and the same holds good of particular parts of the
soul, if its nature admits of division, for in some cases the soul is
the realization of these very parts; not but that there are cer-
tain other parts where nothing forbids their possible separation,
because they are not realizations of any bodily nature. And
yet it is uncertain whether the soul as realization of the body is
separable from it in a sense analogous to the separability of
sailor and boat. Let this suffice as a definition and outline
sketch of the soul. .

CHAPTER II. THE PRINCIPLE OF LIFE

InasmucH as the certain and the conceptually more knowable
is derived from what is uncertain, but sensibly more apparent,
we must resume the investigation of the soul from this stand-

48 ARISTOTLE

point. For it is necessary that the definition show not merely
what a thing is, as most definitions do, but it must also contain
and exhibit the cause of its being what it is. In reality, the
terms of definitions are ordinarily stated in the form of conclu-
sions. What,e.g., is the definition of squaring? The reply is that
squaring is the conversion of a figure of unequal sides into a
right-angled equilateral figure equal to the former. Such a
definition is the expression of a conclusion. But to define squar-
ing as the discovery of a mean proportional line is to define the
thing in terms of its cause. Resuming our inquiry, we say,
therefore, that the animate is distinguished from the inanimate
by the principle of life. But inasmuch as life is predicated in
several senses, e.g. in the sense of reason, sensation, local move-
ment and rest, and furthermore movement in the sense of
nutrition, decay, and growth; if any one of these is discerned
in a thing we say that it has life. All plants, therefore, are sup-
posed to have life; for evidently they have within them a po-
tency and principle whereby they experience growth and decay
in opposite processes. For their growth is not merely upwards
or downwards, but in both these directions alike and in every
point where nutrition takes place, and they continue to live as
long as they are capable of nutrition. Now this faculty of nutri-
tion is separable from the other forms of life, but the other forms
cannot exist in perishable creatures apart from this principle
of nutrition. This is made clear in the instance of plants; for
they have no other capacity of soul (or life) than this nutritive
one. Owing to this fundamental principle of nourishment,
therefore, life is found in all animated living things, but the
primary mark which distinguishes an animal from other forms
of life is the possession of sensation. For even those creatures
which are incapable of locomotion or change of place, but which
possess sensation, are called animals and are not merely said to
live. Touch is the primary form of sensation and is found in all
animals. But as the nutritive faculty is separable from touch
and sensation in general, so touch can exist apart from the other
forms of sensation. By the nutritive power we understand
that part of the soul in which plants share; and by the sensa-

PSYCHOLOGY 49

tion of touch we mean that capacity which all animals possess.
We shall later on give the explanation of these phenomena.

For the present let it suffice that the soul is the causal princi-
ple of the aforesaid phenomena, and is defined in terms of them,
I mean, in terms of nutrition, sensation, reason, motion. To the
question whether each of these forms of life is a soul or a part of
the soul; and, if a part, whether in the sense that the part is
only notionally separable or really separable in space, — the
reply is in some respects easy and in others difficult. For in the
case of plants, some of them appear to live when they are di-
vided up and the parts are separated from each other, indicat-
ing that there is in each of these plants in actuality an unitary
soul, but in potentiality several souls. And we observe the
same thing taking place in different varieties of soul, as e.g. in
the case of insects which have been dismembered. Here each
part is capable of sensation and locomotion, but if it is capable
of sensation it is also capable of imagination and impulse. For
where there is sensation, there is also pleasure and pain, and
where there is pleasure and pain there is necessarily also desire.
Now in regard to reason and the speculative faculty, we have
as yet no certain evidence, but it seems to be a generically dis-
tinct type of soul and it alone is capable of existing in a state of
separation from the body, as the eternal is separable from the
mortal. The remaining parts of the soul, however, are from the
foregoing considerations evidently not separable, as some as-
sert. But that they are notionally separable, is clear; for if per-
ceiving is distinct from opining, the faculty of sensation or per-
ception is distinct from that whereby we opine, and each of
these is in turn distinct from the faculties above mentioned.
Furthermore, all of these are found in some animals, while only
certain of them are found in others, and in still others only a
single one (and this is the cause of distinctions amongst ani-
mals). The reason for this must be investigated hereafter. A
parallel instance is found in regard to sensation; some animals
possess all the faculties of sense, others only certain of them,
and still others only the single most fundamental one, viz.
touch.

50 ARISTOTLE

The principle by which we live and have sensation, then, is
employed in a twofold sense. Similarly, we employ the prin-
ciple by which we know in a twofold sense, viz. science and the
knowing mind (for we say we know by means of each of these),
and in a like manner the principle by virtue of which we are
healthy is in one sense health itself, and in another sense a part
of the body or the whole of it. In these cases knowledge and
health constitute the form, notion, idea, and, as it were, the
realization of a potential subject, — the one of a knowing sub-
ject and the other of a healthy one, (realization is supposed to
attach to that which has power to effect changes and is found in
a passive and recipient subject). The soul is that principle by
which in an ultimate sense we live and feel and think; so that
it is a sort of idea and form, not matter and substrate. Now,
substance is employed, as we have said, ina threefold meaning,
viz. as form, as matter, and as a composite of these two.
Amongst these meanings of substance matter signifies potenti-
ality; form signifies actuality or complete realization. Inasmuch
as it is the composite which is the animate creature, body can-
not be regarded as the complete realization of the soul, but the
soul is the realization of a given body. The conjecture, there-
fore, appears well founded that the soul does not exist apart
from a body nor is it a particular body. The soul is not itself
body, but it is a certain aspect of body, and is consequently
found in a body, and furthermore in a body of such and such a
kind. It is not to be regarded as it was amongst our predeces-
sors who thought that it is introduced into body without prior
determination of the particular sort of body, although no casual
subject appears capable of undergoing any casual or haphazard
effect.1 This same result is also reached by an analysis of the
notion itself; for complete realization in every instance is natu-
rally found in a definite potentiality and in an appropriate
matter. From this it is evident that the soul is a kind of realiza-
tion and expressed idea of a determinate potentiality.

1 Trendelenburg thinks the Pythagoreans are meant here, owing to their
doctrine of transmigration of souls. Cf. De anima, 407 b 22.

PSYCHOLOGY 51

CHAPTER III. THE VARIOUS MEANINGS OF
THE SOUL

IN some creatures, as we have said, all of the above men-
tioned psychic powers are found, in others certain of them, and
in still others only one. By powers we mean here the power of
nutrition, of appetite, of sensation, of movement in space, and
of rational thought. In plants, only the nutritive power is
found; in other creatures the power of sensation is added. If
sensation is added, impulse or appetite is also implied. For
appetite includes desire and impulse and wish. All animals
have at least one sense — touch; and to whatever creature
sensation is given, to it are also given pleasure and pain, and
objects appear to be pleasant or painful. Creatures which dis-
tinguish these, possess also desire; for desire is an impulse
towards what is pleasant. Further, animals possess a sense for
food, and this is the sense of touch; for all animals are nourished
by means of the dry and moist, the warm and cold, and it is
touch which apprehends these. It is only incidentally that
animals discern food through other sensible qualities; neither
sound nor colour nor-smell contributes at all to food. Flavour,
however, is one.of the haptic qualities. Hunger and thirst are
desires; hunger is a desire of the dry and warm; thirst.a desire
of the cool and moist, and flavour is a sort of seasoning in these
objects. We must explain these subjects minutely hereafter;
for the present let the statement suffice, that amongst animals
where we find touch we find appetite also. The subject of
imagination in animals is uncertain and must be investigated
later. In addition to these attributes we find amongst some
animals the power of local movement and in others we find the
power of understanding and reason, as in man and in other
creatures that are, if there be such, similar or superior to man.
It is evident that a single definition can be applied to soul in
the same way as a single definition can be applied to figure. As
in the latter case, there is no figure beyond that of the triangle
and its derivations, so in the former case there is no soul beyond
those enumerated. A common definition might also be applied

1

52 ARISTOTLE

to figures which would fit them all and be peculiar to no par-
ticular figure. The same holds good in the case of the above
mentioned types of soul. It is, therefore, absurd, both in these
instances and in others, to search for a common definition which
shall not apply to any individual real thing nor to any peculiar
and irreducible species, thereby neglecting the particular mean-
ing in the general. The facts touching the soul are parallel to
this case of figure; for both in figures and in animate creatures,
the prior always exists potentially in the later, e.g. the triangle
is contained potentially in the square and the nutritive power
in that of sensation. We must, therefore, investigate the nature
of the soul in particular things, e.g. in a plant, a man, or a lower
animal. And we must consider the cause of their order of suc-
cession. The sensitive soul, for example, presupposes the nutri-
tive, but in the case of plants the nutritive exists apart from the
sensitive. Again, the sense of touch is presupposed by all the
other senses, but touch exists apart from them and does not
presuppose them. Many animals have no sense of sight, hear-
ing, or smell. Some that are capable of sensation have also
power of local movement, others have not; finally the smallest
number possess the power of reason and understanding. Mortal
creatures who possess the power of reason, possess all the other
psychic faculties, but those which have each of these others do
not all have the power of reason, and certain of them do not
even possess imagination, while still others live by this alone.
At another time we shall give an account of the speculative
reason. It is evident, however, that this account touching each
particular form of soul is also the most fitting description of the
soul in general.

CHAPTER IV. THE SOUL AND FINAL CAUSE

Ir one intends to make an investigation of the faculties of
the soul, it is necessary first to inquire into their several natures,
and then by the same method to inquire further into other
related problems. If, then, one is obliged to describe the
nature of each several faculty, e.g. the nature of the faculty of

PSYCHOLOGY 53

reason, of sense-perception, or of nutrition, one must first be
able to say what thinking and sense-perception mean. For the
activities and processes are notionally prior to the faculties to
which they belong. If this is true, we must further observe the
objects of the activities before the activities themselves, and
we should for the same reason first determine our position
regarding these objects, e.g. regarding food, the sensible, and the
intelligible. First, then, we must speak of food and generation.
For the nutritive power is found in all living things, and is the
primary and most universal faculty of soul, by virtue of which
all creatures possess life. Its functions are to procreate, and to
assimilate food. In all animals that are perfect and not abnor-
mal, or that are not spontaneously generated, it is the most
natural function to beget another being similar to itself, an
animal to beget another animal, a plant another plant, in order
that they attain, as far as possible, the immortal and divine;
for this is what every creature aims at, and this is the final
cause of every creature’s natural life. We understand by final
cause two things: the purpose aimed at, and the person who is
served by the purpose. Since it is impossible for an individual
to partake of the immortal and divine in its own continuous
life, because no perishable creature continues self-identical and
numerically one, it partakes therefore of the immortal in that
way in which it is able to share it, one thing in a higher degree
and another in a lower; it does not itself abide, but only a simi-
lar self abides; in its continuity it is not numerically, but only
specifically, one.

The soul is the cause and principle of a living body. These
terms are used in several senses. Corresponding to these differ-
ences, the soul is referred to as cause in three distinct meanings;
for it is cause in the sense of the source of movement, of final
cause, and as the real substance of animate bodies. That it is a
cause in the sense of real substance is evident, for real substance
is in every case the cause of being, and the being of animals is
their life, and soul is the cause and principle of life. Further-
more, it is the complete realization that gives us the real signifi-
cance of a potential being. Soul is also evidently cause in the

54 ARISTOTLE

sense of final cause. For nature, like reason, acts with purpose,
and this purpose is its end. In animals the soul is, by virtue of
its nature, a principle similar to this. For the soul uses all natu-
ral bodies as its instruments, the bodies of animals and the
bodies of plants alike, which exist for the soul as their end. End
is used in two senses: the purpose, and the person or thing
which the purpose serves. Soul also means the primary source
of local movement. This power of local movement is not pos-
sessed by all living creatures. Transformation and growth are
also due to the soul. For sense-perception is supposed to be a
kind of transformation, and nothing is capable of sense-percep-
tion unless it has a soul. The case is similar with growth and
decay. For nothing grows or decays by natural processes unless
it admit of nutrition, and nothing is capable of nutrition unless
it has a soul. Empedocles ascribes downward growth to plants
where they are rooted, because the earth naturally tends down-
ward, and upward growth, because fire tends in that direction,
and in these respects is not right. For Empedocles does not
employ the terms ‘up’ and ‘down’ correctly. ‘Up’ and ‘down’
are not the same for all things nor in all parts of the universe,
for roots are to plants what the head is to animals, if one is to
describe organs as identical or different in terms of their func-
tions. In addition, what principle is it that holds together these
two elements of fire and earth, tending, as they do, in opposite
directions? For they will scatter asunder, if there be no hinder-
ing principle. And if there is such a principle, it is the soul and
the cause of growth and nourishment. Some regard fire as the
real cause of nutrition and growth. For this seems to be the
only body or element that feeds and increases itself. One might,
therefore, conjecture'that this is the element that causes growth
and nutrition in animals and plants. In a certain sense, it is
true, fire is a co-ordinate cause, but not the absolute cause, of
growth; this is rather the soul. For the growth of fire is indeter-
minate so long as there is material to burn; on the other hand,
in all bodies developed in nature there is a limit and significance
tosizeand growth. These attributes ((of limit and significance])
belong to soul, not to fire, to reason rather than to matter.

PSYCHOLOGY 5s

Since the same power of the soul is both nutritive and gen-
erative, we must first investigate nutrition; for it is by this
function of nutrition that the faculty in question is distinguished
from other faculties. Nutrition is supposed to take place by the
law of opposites, although not every opposite is nourished by
every other, but such opposites only as derive both their origin
and their growth from each other. Many things are derived
from one another, but they are not all quantitative changes, as
e.g. healthy from sickly. Nutrition isnot applied to these cases
in the same sense, for while water is nutriment for fire, fire does
not nourish water. The opposites of food and nourishment
appear to apply particularly to simple bodies. There is, how-
ever, a difficulty here. For there are some who maintain that
like is nourished by like, as like is also increased by like, while
others, as we said, affirm the converse of this, viz., that oppo-
sites are nourished by opposites, on the ground that like is in-
capable of being affected by like. Food, however, undergoes
transformation and is digested, and transformation is in every
case toward the opposite or the intermediate. Further, food is
affected by the body which assimilates it; the latter, however,
is not affected by the food, just as the builder is not affected by
his material, although the material undergoes change through
him. The builder merely passes from a state of inactivity into
one of activity. The question whether nourishment is to be
understood to apply to the final condition in which it is taken
up by the body, or to its original condition, creates a difficulty.
If both are meant, only in the one case the food is indigested
and in the other digested, it would be possible to speak of nour-
ishment conformably to both of the above theories; for in so far
as it is indigested, we should have opposite nourished by oppo-
site; in so far as it is digested, we should have like nourished by
like; so that in a certain sense, it is evident they are both right
and both wrong. Since nothing is nourished which does not
share life, the object of nutrition would be an animate body as
animate; so that food is determined by its relation to an ani-
mate object and is not accidental. There is a difference between
the nourishment and the principle of growth; in so far as the

56 ARISTOTLE

animate thing is quantitative, the notion of growth applies; in
so far as it is a particular substance, the notion of nourishment.
For food preserves a being as a.substantial thing, and it con-
tinues to exist so long as it is nourished. Nourishment is pro-
ductive of generation, not the generation of the nourished thing,
but of a being similar to it. For the former exists already as a
reality, and nothing generates, but merely preserves, itself.
So then, such a principle of the soul as we have described is a
power capable of preserving that in which this principle is
found, in so far as it is found; nourishment equips it for action.
When, therefore, it is deprived of nourishment, it can no longer
exist. Since there are three distinct things here: the object
nourished, the means of nourishment, and the power that
causes nutrition, we shall say that it is the elemental soul that
causes nutrition, the object nourished is the body which pos-
sesses this soul, and the means of nourishment is the food. And
since it is fair to give everything a name in terms of its end, and
since here the end of the soul is to generate a creature like to
itself, the elemental soul might be called generative of that
which is like to itself. The means of nourishment is used in two
senses, as is also the means of steering a ship; for one may refer
to the hand, or to the rudder, the one being both actively mov-
ing and moved; the other only passively moved. All nutriment
must be capable of being digested; heat is the element which
accomplishes digestion. Everything animate, therefore, pos-
sesses heat. We have explained now, in outline, what nutri-
ment is. The subject must be more minutely treated later on in
its proper place.

CHAPTER V. SENSATION AND THOUGHT

Now that we have arrived at the foregoing conclusions,
let us discuss in general the entire question of sense-perception.
It consists, as we have said, in being moved and affected; for it
is supposed to be a sort of internal transformation. Some main-
tain that like is affected by like. In what sense this is possible
and in what sense impossible, I have explained in a general

PSYCHOLOGY $7

treatise On Activity and Passivity. A difficulty is raised by the
question why it is that perceptions do not arise from the senses
themselves, and why it is that without external stimuli they
produce no sensation, although fire and earth, and the other
elements of which we have sense-perception, are, either in their
essential nature or in their attributes, found in the senses. It is,
therefore, evident that the organ of sense-perception is not a
thing in actuality but only in potentiality. It is consequently
analogous to the combustible which does not itself ignite with-
out something to set it ablaze. Otherwise it would have burned
itself and had no need of an active fire. Inasmuch as we say
that perceiving is used in two meanings (e.g. we call the capacity
to hear and see, hearing and sight, although they may chance
to be dormant, and we apply the same terms where the senses
are actively exercised), so sense-perception also would be used
in two senses, the one potential and the other actual. First of
all let us understand that the terms affection, motion, and
activity, are used in the same meaning. For motion is a sort
of activity, although incomplete, as we have said elsewhere.
Everything is affected and set in motion by an active agent and
by something that exists in activity. Therefore in one sense a
thing is affected by like, in another by unlike, as we have said;
for it is the unlike that is affected, but after being affected it is
like.

We must, further, make a distinction touching potentiality
and actuality, for we are now using these terms in a general
sense. There is a sense in which we speak of a thing as knowing,
as when we call man knowing, because man belongs to the class
of creatures that know and are endowed with knowledge. There
is another sense in which we speak of a man as possessing the
particular knowledge of grammar. In each of these cases a man
possesses knowledge potentially, but not in the same sense; the
former is knowing as belonging to a certain genus and as hav-
ing a native endowment; the latter is knowing in the sense of
being able to exercise his knowledge at will, when nothing
external prevents. In astill different sense there is the man who
is actually exercising his knowledge, and is in a condition of

68 ARISTOTLE

complete realization, having in the strict sense knowledge of a
particular thing, as e.g. A. The first two know in a potential
sense; the one of them, however, knows when he is trans-
formed through a discipline of knowledge, and has passed re-
peatedly out of an opposite condition; the other knows in the
sense of possessing arithmetical or grammatical science; and
their passing from non-actual to actual knowledge is different.
Again, neither is the term ‘passivity’ used in an absolute mean-
ing: in one meaning, it is destruction by an opposite principle;
in another meaning, it is the preservation of the potentially
existent by means of the actual and similar, just as potentiality
is related to actuality. That which possesses potential know-
ledge, for instance, comes to the actual use of it — a transition
that we must either not call transformation (for the added
element belongs to its own nature and tends to its own realiza-
tion), or else we must call it a special kind of transformation.
It is, therefore, incorrect to speak of thinking as a transforma-
tion when one thinks, just as the builder is not transformed
when he is building a house. That which conduces to actuali-
zation out of a potential state in the matter of reasoning and
thinking is not fairly called teaching, but must be given another
name. Again, that which passes out of a potential state by
learning or by acquiring knowledge at the hands of what
actually knows and can teach, must either not be said to be
affected as a passive subject, or we must admit two meanings
of transformation, the one a change into a negative condition,
and the other into a positive condition and the thing’s natural
state.

The first change in the sentient subject is wrought by the
generating parent, but after birth the creature comes into the
possession of sense-perception as a species of knowledge. Act-
ive sensation is used in a way similar toactive thinking. There
is, however, this difference, that the objects which produce
sensation are external, e.g. the visible and the audible, and
similarly other sensible qualities. The reason for this is that
active sense-perception refers to particular things, while scien-
tific knowledge refers to the universal. These universals, how-

PSYCHOLOGY 59

ever, are, in a certain sense, in the mind itself. Therefore it is
in one’s power to think when one wills, but to experience sense-
perception is not thus in one’s power; for a sensible object must
first be present. This also holds good of those sciences which
deal with sensible realities, and for the same reason, viz. because
these sensible realities belong to the world of perce and
external phenomena.

To go into the details of these questions would be more suit-
able at another time. For the present somuch may be regarded
as fixed, viz. that the term ‘potential’ is not used in any abso-
lute sense, but in one case its meaning is similar to our saying
that a boy has in him the potentiality of a general, and in an-
other case to our saying that a man in his prime has that poten-
tiality —a distinction which also applies to the capacity for
sense-perception. Inasmuch as this distinction has no particu-
lar name in our language, although we have remarked that the
things are different and how they differ, we must simply employ
the terms affection and transformation as applicable here.
That which is capable of sense-perception is, as we have said,
potentially what the sensible is actually. It is, therefore,
affected at a moment when it is unlike, but when it has been
affected it becomes like and is as its object.

CHAPTER VI. SENSE QUALITIES

In discussing any form of sense-perception we must begin
with the sensible object. The ‘object of sense’ is used in three
meanings, two of which touch the essential nature of sensation
and one its accidents. Of the two first-named, one applies spe-
cially toeach particular sense, the other is common to them all.
By ‘peculiar object of sense’ I mean a sense-quality which can-
not be apprehended by a sense different from that to which it
belongs, and concerning which that sense cannot be deceived,
e.g. colour is the peculiar object of vision, sound of hearing,
flavour of taste. Touch, however, discriminates several sense-
qualities. The other particular senses, on the contrary, dis-
tinguish only their peculiar objects, and the senses are not

60 ARISTOTLE

deccived in the fact that a quality is colour or sound, although
they may be deceived as to what or where the coloured or
sonorous object may be. Such qualities are called the peculiar
objects of particular senses, whereas common objects are mo-
tion, rest, number, form, magnitude. Properties of the latter
kind are not the peculiar objects of any sense, but are common
to them all. Motion is apprehended by touch and by sight.
A thing is an object of sense accidentally, e.g. when a white
object proves to be the son of Diares. The latter is perceived
accidentally, for the person whom one perceives is an accident
of the white object. Therefore, the sense as such is not affected
by the sensible object ([as a person]). To the objects of sense,
strictly regarded, belong such properties as are peculiarly and
properly sense-qualities, and it is with these that the essential
nature of each sense is naturally concerned.

BOOK III. SENSATION, IMAGINATION AND
THOUGHT

CHAPTER I. THE ‘COMMON SENSIBLES’

TuatT there is no additional sense beyond the five we have
enumerated (I mean sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch),
one may believe from the following considerations. Granted
that we really have perception of everything for which touch is
the appropriate sense (for all the qualities of the tangible as
such are apprehended by touch), it is necessary that if any
sensation is lacking, some organ must also be lacking in us.
Whatever we perceive by contact is perceived by the sense of
touch, with which we are endowed. On the other hand, what-
ever we perceive through media and not by direct contact, is
perceived by simple elements, such as air and water. The con-
ditions here are such that if several sensible objects which differ
from each other generically are perceived by a single medium,
then anyone who has a sense-organ analogous to this medium
must be capable of perceiving these several sense-objects. For
example, if the sense-organ is composed of air and the air is the

PSYCHOLOGY 61

medium of both sound and colour, the organ would perceive
both these sense-qualities. If, on the other hand, several ele-
ments are mediators of the same sense-qualities, as e.g. colour is
mediated both by air and water (for both are diaphanous),
then the organ which contains one of these elements alone will
perceive that which is mediated by both of them. The sense-
organs are composed exclusively of these two simple elements,
air and water (for the pupil of the eye is composed of water, the
hearing of air, smell of one or the other of these). Fire, how-
ever, belongs to no organ or it is common to them all (for
nothing is sentient without heat). Earth belongs either to no
organ or it is chiefly and in a special manner combined with
touch. Nothing would remain, therefore, excepting air and
water, to constitute a sense-organ. Some animals have, in act-
ual fact, these organs as described. Animals which are perfect
and not defective have all these senses. For even the mole, as
one may observe, has eyes underneath its skin. Consequently,
unless there are bodies other than those known to us, or quali-
ties other than those which belong to earthly bodies, we may
conclude there is no sense lacking in us.

Neither is it possible that there should be any peculiar organ
for the perception of common properties such as we perceive
accidentally by means of the individual senses, e.g. common
properties like motion, rest, form, magnitude, number, unity.
For all these properties we perceive by means of motion, e.g.
magnitude is perceived by motion. So also is form, for form is a
sort of magnitude, and rest we perceive from the absence of
motion. We perceive numbers by the negation of continuity
and by the special senses, for each sensation is experienced as a
unit. So, then, it is clearly impossible that any particular sense
should apply to these common properties, such as motion. For
this would be like one now perceiving the sweet by means of
sight. This is because we happen to have senses for both qual-
ities ({z.e. for the sweet and for colour]), whereby when the given
qualities coincide in one object, we recognize the object as
sweet. Otherwise we do not perceive the sweet, excepting in the
sense of accident, as e.g. when we recognize the son of Cleon not

62 ARISTOTLE

because he is Cleon’s son, but because he is a fair object, which
for the son of Cleon is an accident.

We have indeed a ‘common sense’ for the perception of
common qualities. I do not mean accidentally. It is therefore
not a particular sense, for in that case we should perceive in no
other way than as just now described in the illustration of
Cleon. A sense, however, perceives accidentally the qualities
that are peculiar to a different sense, not in their own nature
but because of the unity of these qualities, as when two sense-
qualities apply to the same object, e.g. in the case of bile that
it is both bitter and yellow. Now, itis not the function of either
particular sense to say that both these qualities inhere in one
thing and it is owing to this fact that error arises, when in the
case of a yellow substance one opines it to be bile. One might
ask why we are endowed with several senses and not with one
only. Is it not that facts of sequence and coincidence, such
as motion, magnitude, and number, might the less escape us?
For if we possessed sight only, and this were limited to the per-
ception of whiteness, then all other distinctions would the more
easily escape our knowledge, and because colour and magnitude
are always coincident, they would appear to be identical. In
point of fact, however, since these common qualities are found
in different sense-objects, it is evident that the several quali-
ties themselves are different.

CHAPTER II. THE ‘COMMON SENSE’

But inasmuch as we perceive that we see and hear, we must
have this consciousness of vision either by the instrument of
sight or by some other faculty.!. The same faculty will then
apply both to sight and to colour, the object of sight. In this
case, either we shall have two senses for the same thing, or a
sense will be conscious of itself. Further, if there is another
sense for the perception of sight, either we shall have an infinite
regressus, or a given sense must finally be cognizant of itself, in
which case one would better admit this in the instance of the

1 This function of consciousness is performed by the ‘ sensus communis.’

PSYCHOLOGY 63

original sense itself, z.e. sight. Here, however, is a difficulty.
For, if sensation by means of sight is vision, and colour or that
which possesses colour is what we see, then the seeing faculty
itself must first of all have colour in order to be seen. It is plain,
therefore, that sensation by means of sight is not employed in
a single meaning. For even when we do not see, it is by means
of sight that we judge both of darkness and light, although
not in the same way. Furthermore, the seeing subject is in a
certain sense saturated with colour, since each sentient organ
receives into itself the sensible object without its matter.
This explains the fact that when objects of sense have been
removed, the sensations and images still persist in the sense-
organ.

The actualization of the object of sense and of the sense itself
is one and the same process; they are not, however, identical
with each other in their essential nature. I mean, for instance,
actual sound and actual hearing are not the same. For it is pos-
sible for one who has hearing not to hear, and for a sonorous
body not to emit sound at every instant. When, however, that
which has the potentiality of hearing and that which has the
potentiality of sounding, actually hear and actually emit sound,
at that moment the realized hearing and the realized sound are
simultaneously complete, and one would call them respectively
the sensation of hearing and the act of sounding. If, then,
movement, activity, and passivity are implied in the produced
object, it must be that actual sound and hearing exist in a po-
tential state. For creative and motive activity is given in ante-
cedent passivity. It is, therefore, not necessary for the moving
principle to be itself in actual motion. For as action and passion
find their expression in the object acted upon and not in the
producing agent, so too the actualization of the sensible object
and the sense-organ is expressed in the latter. The actualiza-
tion of a sonorous body is sound or sounding; the actualization
of the hearing organ is audition or hearing. For hearing is two-
fold and sound is twofold, and the same statement applies to
other senses and sense-objects. In some instances the two have
a distinct name, as e.g. hearing and sounding; in other instances

64 ARISTOTLE

one of the two is nameless. For the actualization of sight is
called seeing, but the actualization of colour has no name; the
actualization of the organ of taste is called tasting, while the
actualization of flavour is nameless. Inasmuch as the actuali-
zation of the sense-object and the sense-organ is one and the
same process, although the two things differ in their essential
nature, it is necessary that hearing and sound, in this sense,
should be both either destroyed together or preserved together;
and the same applies to flavour and taste, and to the other
sense-correlates. This necessity does not, however, apply to
the sense-correlates in their potential signification. On the
contrary, the old naturalists were wrong here, supposing, as
they did, that neither white nor black has existence apart from
sight, nor flavour apart from taste. In one way they were right
and in another wrong. For owing to the fact that sense and
sense-object have a twofold signification, namely that of poten-
tiality and that of actuality, their dictum was applicable to the
one meaning, but not to the other. They applied it, however,
to things absolutely which are not predicated absolutely.

If harmony is voice of a certain kind, and if voice and hearing
are in a sense one and the same, and in another sense not one :
and the same, and if, further, harmony is a relation of parts,
hearing must likewise be a relation of parts. It is for this reason
([i.e. because sensation is a kind of proportion]) that every
excessive stimulus, whether acute or grave, disturbs hearing.
In like manner the sense of taste is disturbed by excessive fla-
’ vours, the sense of sight by extremely glaring or extremely faint
colours, smell by excessive odours, whether cloying or acrid.
Consequently, qualities are agreeable when, pure and unmixed,
they are reduced to proportion, as e.g. the pungent, sweet, or
saline, or in the domain of touch, the warm and cool. It is then
that properties are pleasant. In general, the mixed, rather than
the acute or grave alone, is harmony. And sensation is propor-
tion. Excessive stimuli either produce pain or pervert the
organ.

Every sense is directed to its own peculiar sense-object; it is
given in the sense-organ as such, and it distinguishes the differ-

PSYCHOLOGY 65

ent qualities in its appointed sense-object, as e.g. white and
black in the case of sight, sweet and bitter in the case of taste.
And the same can be said of other senses. Now inasmuch as we
distinguish white, sweet, and every sense-quality by its relation
to a particular sense, by what instrument do we perceive that
these qualities differ from one another? We must do so by
means of sensation, for they are sense-qualities. Is it not plain
that the flesh is not the final organ of sense? For the judging
subject would then necessarily distinguish an object by con-
tact. Neither is it possible by means of the distinct senses to
judge that sweet is different from white, but it is necessary that
both these qualities be cognized by some one faculty; other-
wise it would be like my perceiving one thing and you another,
and so proving that they are different. A single faculty must,
therefore, say that they are different. For the sweet is actually
different from the white. One and the same faculty, then, must
affirm this. And as this faculty affirms, so do thought and
perception agree. It is clear that we cannot judge of distinct
qualities by different senses, and we can conclude from this
that we cannot judge of them at distinct intervals of time. For
it is one and the same principle in us which says that the good is
different from the bad. Further, it says that they are different
and distinct at the moment when this affirmation is made. And
when is not used here in an accidental sense, by which I mean:
when does not apply merely to the time of the affirmation, e.g.
I say now that it is different, but it applies also to the thing
affirmed, I say that it is different now, t.e. the time applies to the
assertion and thing coincidently. So the two elements here are
inseparable, and are given in an indivisible moment of time. It
is impossible for the same thing or an indivisible entity to under-
go opposite processes simultaneously and in an indivisible mo-
ment of time. For if sweetness stimulates sensation or thought
in one way, then bitter stimulates it in an opposite way and
whiteness in some other way. Is, then, the judging principle?
something at once numerically indivisible and inseparable,
yet separable in the mode of its existence? There is a sense,

1 The judging principle is the ‘common sense.’

66 ARISTOTLE

then, in which as divisible it perceives the divisible, and a sense
in which as indivisible it perceives the indivisible. For in its
significant being it is divisible, but spatially and numerically it
is indivisible. Or is this not possible? Potentially, indeed, one
and the same indivisible thing may contain opposite properties,
but not in actuality; in its realized self it is separate, and it is
impossible for a thing to be at the same moment both black and
white. So that it is not possible for even the forms of experience ~
to undergo these opposites, if sensation and thought be such
forms. Rather the case here is similar to what some call a point,
which is divisible or indivisible, as one regards it in its single or
dual nature. In so far asit is indivisible, the judging principle is
one and coincident with perception; in so far as it is divisible,
it is not one, for it employs twice and simultaneously the same
mark. In so far as it employs a terminal mark as two, it dis-
tinguishes two things, and these are separable for it as a separa-
ble faculty. In so far as it regards the point as one, it judges
singly and coincidently with perception.

In this way, then, let us state our definition of the principle
by virtue of which we say that animals are sentient beings.

CHAPTER III. IMAGINATION

INASMUCH as the soul is defined mainly by means of two
attributes, namely by locomotion on the one hand and by
thought, judgment, and sensation on the other, it is supposed
that thought and reflexion are a kind of sensation (for in both
instances the soul discriminates and cognizes some reality), and
even the old writers tell us that reflexion and sensation are iden-
tical, as e.g. Empedocles, who said: “‘ Wisdom groweth in man
in the face of a present object”; and in another verse: ‘‘ Hence
is given unto them the power of reflecting ever and anon on
diverse things’’; and the words of Homer have the same mean-
ing: “Such is the mind.” For all of these ancient writers regard
thought as something somatic, like sensation, and believe that
both in sensation and thought like is apprehended by like, as
we said in the beginning of this treatise. They should at the

PSYCHOLOGY 67

same time have spoken of error, for to animals this is more
natural than truth, and their souls pass most of their existence
in error. According to this theory, as some hold, either all
phenomena must be true or else error consists in the contact of
the unlike, for this is the opinion that is opposed to the cogni-
tion of like by like. Further, in this case error and knowledge of
opposites seem to be identical. That sensation and reflexion,
therefore, are not identical is evident. For all animals share in
the one, but few only in the other. Neither is thought, in which
right and wrong are determined, 7.e. right in the sense of practi-
cal judgment, scientific knowledge, and true opinion, and wrong
in the sense of the opposite of these, — thought in this significa-
tion is not identical with sensation. For sensation when applied
to its own peculiar objects is always true, and is inherent in all
animals; but it is possible for discursive thought to be false,
and it is found in no animal which is not also endowed with
reason. Imagination, too, is different from sensation and dis-
cursive thought. At the same time, it is true that imagination
is impossible without sensation, and conceptual thought, in
turn, is impossible without imagination. That thought and
conception, however, are not one and the same is evident. For
imagination is under our control, and can be stimulated when
we wish (for it is possible to call up before our eyes an imaginary
object, as one employs images in the art of mnemonics). Con-
ception, on the other hand, is not under our control. For it
_ must be either false or true. Furthermore, when we conceive
that something is terrible or fearful, we have at once a corre-
sponding feeling, and the same may be said of what inspires
courage. But in the case of imagination we are in the same con-
dition as if we were to place a terrible or a courage-inspiring
object before us in a picture. In conception itself there are
distinct forms, such as knowledge, opinion, reflexion, and their
opposites, concerning whose different meanings we shall speak
later.

Since thinking differs from sense-perception, and in one sig-
nification appears to be imagination and in another significa-
tion conception, we must proceed to the treatment of the latter,

68 ARISTOTLE

after we have defined imagination. If imagination means the
power whereby what we call a phantasm is awakened in us, and
if our use of language here is not merely metaphorical, then
imagination is one of those faculties or mental forces in us by
virtue of which we judge and are capable of truth and error.
And these faculties include sensation, opinion, scientific know-
ledge, and reasoning. That imagination is not to be confounded
with sense-perception is plain from the following considera-
tions. Sensation is either a mere power or a distinct act, like
sight and seeing, but imagination is present when neither of
these conditions is realized, viz. in the phantasms of dreams.
Again, sensation is always present, but this is not true of imag-
ination. If in reality it were identical with sensation, then all
animals would have imagination. This does not seem to be the
fact, as we find in the case of the ant, the bee, and the worm.
Again, sensations are always true, while imaginations are for
the most part false. In the next place, we do not say when we
are accurately observing a sense-object, that we imagine it to
be aman. We say this rather when we do not clearly perceive
[and when the perception may be true or false], and as we
said above, we see imaginary pictures even when our eyes are
closed. But neither is imagination one of those faculties whose
deliverances are always true, as e.g. scientific knowledge and
reason. For imagination canalso be false. It remains to be con-
sidered whether it is opinion, for opinion can be either true or
false. Opinion, however, is followed by belief (for no man can
have an opinion and not believe what he opines), and none of
the lower animals possesses belief, although imagination is found
in many of them. [Again, every opinion is followed by belief, as
belief is followed by persuasion, and persuasion by reason. Now,
some of the lower animals have imagination, but none of them
have reason.] It is plain, then, that imagination is not opinion
combined with sensation, nor mediated by sensation, nor a com-
plex of opinion and sensation, and, for the same reason, it isclear
that opinion has for its object nothing else than what sensation
has for its object. I mean e.g. that imagination is the complex
of an opinion of whiteness and a sensation of whiteness, and not

PSYCHOLOGY 69

the complex of an opinion of goodness and a sensation of white-
ness. To imagine, therefore, is to opine what, strictly regarded,
is a sense-object. Again, there are false appearances when we
have correct conceptions, as e.g. in the case of the sun which
appears to be a foot in diameter, whereas we believe it to be
larger than the inhabited earth. The consequence is that we
must either have thrown aside our true opinion which we held,
without the thing having changed and without any forgetful-
ness or change of conviction on our part; or if one still holds it,
it is necessary that the same opinion be both true and false.
But an opinion has become false ina case where an object, with-
out our knowing it, has changed. Imagination, then, is not one
of these faculties nor a derivative of them.

Since one thing when moved can communicate motion to
another, and since imagination is held to be a form of motion
which does not come into existence without sense-perception,
but only in sentient creatures or in reference to objects to which
sensation applies, and since motion is produced by the action
of sense-perception, and this motion must be equal to the
strength of the sensation, one can affirm that the motion of
imagination would never be possible without sensation nor could
it take place in non-sentient creatures. Further, the one who
experiences it can act and be acted upon in many ways, and
one’s experiences may be true or false. This truth or falsehood
is due to the following causes. Sense-perception is true when it
concerns its own peculiar objects; at any rate, there is involved
in this case, the least possible amount of error. In the second
place, sense-perception may concern the accidental, and here
error begins to be possible. One is not mistaken in saying that
a thing is white, but if one says the white object is this or that
particular thing, error arises. In the third place, error applies
to common properties and concomitants of the accidental, in
which peculiar properties are involved. I mean e.g. motion and
magnitude, which are accidental properties of sensible objects,
and concerning which we are especially liable to error in sense-
perception. The motion set up by the activity of sensation
will differ in terms of the three following forms of sense-percep-

70 ARISTOTLE

tion. The first movement is when the sense-perception con-
tinues present, and this is true; the other two may be false
whether the object is present or withdrawn, but are especially
liable to error when the sense-object is removed.

If imagination contains nothing but the elements named and
is what we have described it to be, it would be a movement
stimulated by actualized sense-perception. Since sight is our
principal sense, imagination has derived its name from light,
because sight is impossible without light. Because images per-
sist and resemble sense-perceptions, animals regulate their
actions to a large degree by imagination, some of them because
they are incapable of reason, as the lower brutes, others because
reason is sometimes veiled by passion, disease, or sleep, as is the
case amongst men. Concerning imagination, what its nature
is and what end it subserves, let the foregoing suffice.

CHAPTER IV. THE THEORY OF REASON

REGARDING that part of the soul by virtue of which one
knows and reflects, whether it be a distinct part or whether it
be distinct only notionally and not really, we have now to con-
sider what its differential mark is, and by what process thinking
is exercised. If thinking is like sense-perception, it would be
either a kind of impression made by the object of cognition or
some analogous process. It must, then, be impassive and yet
receptive of the form, and in its nature potentially like to the
object of thought without being this object; and as the sense-
organ is related to the object of sense, in a similar way thought
must be related to the object of thought. Reason must, there-
fore, be unmixed, as Anaxagoras says, since it thinks every-
thing, in order that it may rule, z.e. in order that it may know.
It is the nature of thought to preclude and restrain the element
that is foreign and adjacently seen. Its nature is, therefore,
exclusively potentiality. What we call reason in the soul (by
reason I mean the instrument by which the soul thinks and
forms conceptions) is, prior to the exercise of thought, no reality
at all. It is, therefore, wrong to suppose that reason itself is

PSYCHOLOGY 71

mixed with the body. For in that case it would have certain
qualitative distinctions such as warm or cold, or it would be a
sort of instrument, like a sense-organ. But in point of fact it is
nothing of the kind. Certain writers! have happily called the
soul the place of ideas, only this description does not apply to
the soul as a whole, but merely to the power of thought, and
it applies to ideas only in the sense of potentiality, and not
of actuality. It is evident from the sense-organ and from the
nature of sensation, that the term impassivity is employed in
a different meaning in sensation and in thinking. For sense-
perception cannot take place when the sense-stimulus is exces-
sive, as one does not hear sound in the midst of loud noises,
neither can one see nor smell in the midst of excessively bright
colours and strong odours. On the other hand, when the mind
thinks a very profound thought, it thinks not in a lesser but ina
deeper degree minor details. For the power of sensation is not
independent of the body, while the mind is separable. When
reason becomes its several objects in the sense in which an
actually learned man is said to be learned (and this takes place
when he can exercise knowledge through his own agency), even
then reason is in a certain sense potential, although this poten-
tiality differs from that which preceded learning and discovery.
In the latter case, potentiality signifies the capacity of thinking
itself.

There is a difference between concrete magnitude and the
ultimate nature of magnitude, between water and the ultimate
nature of water (the same distinction can be applied to other
instances, though not to all, for in some cases they are identi-
cal). Concrete flesh and the ultimate nature of flesh one judges
either by a different and distinct faculty or by the same faculty
under differing conditions. Flesh is not separate from matter,
but like a snub-nose, it is a particular thing in a given some-
thing. By means of a sense-organ one discriminates heat and
cold and those qualities of which flesh is a sort of register. On
the other hand, reason judges of the essential nature of flesh
either by a different and distinct faculty, or in the way in which

1 Plato and the Academy.

72 ARISTOTLE

a bent line is related to itself when straightened. We refer the
straight line as we do the snub-nose to abstract entities, for they
are both associated with the continuous. But the essential no-
tion of a thing, if straightness and the straight line are different
(and they are two things), is apprehended by a different power.
The mind, then, judges in the two cases by means of a differ-
ent power or by means of a power differently conditioned. Ina
word, therefore, as there are things abstracted from matter, so
there are things that concern the reason. If the mind is simple
and impassive, and has nothing in common with anything else,
as Anaxagoras! says, and if thinking means to be somehow im-
pressed, one might ask, How will thought be possible? For it is
only in so far as there is something common to two things that
the one appears to act and the other to be acted upon. A further
question might be raised, viz. whether the mind itself is the
object of thought. If it is, mind will then either be found in
other things, unless it is the object of thought in some way
different from other objects, and unless the object of thought is
a specific and single thing; else it will have a mixed composition
which makes it like other things, the object of thought. Accord-
ing to our former definition, ‘to be affected in reference to a
common element,’ means that the mind is potentially the object
of thought, though perhaps not actually so until thought takes
place. It must be that the case here is similar to that of the tab-
let on which nothing has been actually written. This is what
takes place in the case of mind, and it is the object of thought
as other things are. Where entities are without matter, the
subjectand object of thought are identical. Speculative thought
and the thing speculatively known are one and the same. The
reason why thought is not continuous must be investigated.
On the other hand, when entities are material they are severally
the object of thought only potentially; mind is not an element
in them (for reason is the potentiality of such objects in abstrac-
tion from their matter), whereas it is in the reason itself that
the object of thought will be found.

1 Tn his theory of sensation Anaxagoras says we do not apprehend like by
like (Empedocles), but unlike by unlike, e.g. heat by cold.

PSYCHOLOGY 72

CHAPTER V. ACTIVE AND PASSIVE REASON |

In the whole of nature there is on the one hand a material
factor for every kind of thing (and this is what all things are in
their potentiality), and another factor which is causative and
productive of things, by virtue of its making all objects, as art
stands related to the matter it employs. These distinctions
must also hold good when applied to the soul. Reason is of such
character that on the one hand it becomes all things, and on the
other creates all things, in this respect resembling a property
like light. For light in a certain sense converts potential into
actual colours, and reason, in the present meaning, is separate,
impassive, and unmixed, being in its essential nature an: ener-
gizing force. Now, action is always higher than passion and
causal force higher than matter. Actual knowledge is identical
with its object. Potential knowledge, on the other hand, pre-
exists in the individual; regarded absolutely it does not so pre-
exist. For mind does not at one moment think and at another
not. In its separated state alone reason is what it is, immortal
and eternal. We have no memory of it, because this part of
reason is impassive. The passive reason, on the other hand, is
perishable, and without it there can be no thought.

CHAPTER VI. THOUGHT AND TRUTH

WHEN thought is applied to indivisible terms, error does not
arise. Where error and truth are both found is just in the com-
bination of thoughts into a sort of unity. Empedocles e.g. says:
“Wherefore the heads of many creatures sprang into life with-
out necks,” and later on by the attraction of Friendship they
were joined together. So, too, these disjoined ideas are combined
together by the reason, as e.g. the ideas of the incommensur-
able and the diagonal. If the ideas refer to the past or to the
future, the element of time is added in the mind and combined
with the ideas. Error is always due to the combination. For
even in the case where one might think the white not to be white,

one has made the combination of the ‘not-white.’ It is further

74 | ARISTOTLE

possible to apply disjunction to everything. It is not only pos-
sible for the statement ‘Cleon is fair’ to be true or false, but
this may be applied to the past or to the future. The unifying
principle is in every case the reason. Since the simple or indi-
visible may be looked at from two standpoints, viz. either as
potentiality or as actuality, there is nothing to prevent the
mind from thinking the indivisible when it thinks of extension
(which in its actual state is indivisible), and when it thinks it in
an indivisible moment of time. For divisibility and indivisi-
bility apply to time just as they do to length. It is, therefore,
impossible to say what the mind thinks in each half of a time-
division. For the half does not exist, except in potentiality, if
the division has not been made. But in the act of thinking each
half separately, the mind divides the time also, and then the
time corresponds in its division to the two lengths. If, however,
the mind thinks the object as a whole composed of two halves,
it does this also with regard to time in its relation to the two
halves.

That which is not quantitatively but only notionally indi-
visible, the mind thinks in an indivisible time and by an in-
divisible power of the soul. It does this, however, accidentally
and not in sofar as the factors of thought and time are divisible,
but in so far as they are indivisible. And there is also in these
cases an objective factor which is indivisible, although perhaps
not a separate entity, that gives a unity to time and extension.
And this is likewise true of everything that is continuous,
whether in time or space. The point and everything obtained
by division, and whatever (like a point) is no longer divisible,
are explicable in terms of privation. Similar reasoning may be
applied to other cases, as e.g. the way in which we know evil or
black. For we know them somehow or other by means of their
contraries. But the knowing mind must be these things poten-
tially, and they must be reduced to unity in the mind itself. If,
however, in the case of any causal principle there is no opposite,
then it knows itself, and is in actuality and is separate. A pre-
dication, as e.g. an affirmation, asserts something of something
else, and is in every instance either true or false. This does not

PSYCHOLOGY 7

apply to the mind always, but when the mind asserts what a
thing is in its essential nature and not what attaches to some-
thing as a predicate, then it is true. And just as sight is true
when it concerns its own proper object, and on the other hand
the opinion that a visible white object is or is not a man may
not always be true, so it is with all immaterial entities.

CHAPTER VII. THOUGHT AND ITS OBJECT

AcTuaL knowledge is identical with its object. Potential
knowledge is earlier in time in the individual, but taken abso-
lutely it is not earlier in time. For all becoming proceeds from
actual being. The sensible object appears to convert the poten-
tially sensitive organ into an actually sensitive organ. For the
sense-organ itself is not affected, and undergoes no change.
That is the reason why we have here to do with a form of mo-
tion different from motion in the ordinary sense. Motion was
defined as a realization of the incomplete, but motion, abso-
lutely regarded, is a different kind of activity, viz. the activity
of the perfected thing. Mere sense-perception, then, is like a
simple expression or a simple thought; when, however, the
sensation is pleasant or painful, and thus corresponds to affir-
mation or negation, the thing is pursued or avoided. To feel
pleasure or pain signifies to experience an activity in a mean
function of the sense-organ relative to good or bad as such.
Avoidance and pursuit in their actual natures are identical,
and the appetitive power whereby we desire or pursue a thing is
not different from the power whereby we avoid a thing. They
do not differ from each other or from the sensitive faculty.
Only the expression of their being is different. Images are em-
ployed by the conceptual reason as sense-presentations are by
the sentient faculty. When the mind makes an affirmation or
negation touching the good or bad, it avoids the one and pur-
sues the other. The soul, therefore, never thinks without the
use of images. As the air produces such or such an effect on the
pupil of the eye, and the pupil in turn produces another effect
(the same illustration may be applied to hearing), and yet the

76 ARISTOTLE

ultimate interpreter or medium of sensation is a single power
whose being is expressed in several ways, ([so it is with images
in reference to thought.]) As to the faculty by which we dis-
criminate sweet and warm, although the problem has been
mentioned above, it must be again discussed as follows. There
is some unitary principle, and this unitary principle has the
character of an ultimate term. Its deliverances are reduced
to unity by means of comparison and numerical statement, and
related to each other as the outward things are related to each
other. The question as to how the mind judges like qualities,
does not differ from the question as to how it judges opposite
qualities such as white and black. Let A, the objectively white,
be related to B, the objectively black, as the idea C is related to.
the idea D, or it may be stated conversely. Now, if the ideas
CD attach to a certain thing, they will be related to each other
({in the concept]) just as AB are related to each other, — they
will form one and the same thing, though not identical in mode
of being; and the former combination (CD) is analogous to the
latter (AB). The same reasoning holds in case one were to
apply A to a sweet object, and B to a white object.

The reasoning mind thinks its ideas in the form of images;
and as the mind determines the objects it should pursue or
avoid in terms of these images, even in the absence of sensation,
so it is stimulated to action when occupied with them. For
example, when one sees that a beacon is lighted, and observes
by means of the ‘common sense’ that it is in motion, one com-
prehends that an enemy is near. Sometimes by means of the
images or ideas in the soul the mind reasons as a seeing person,
and takes thought for the future in terms of things before one’s
eyes. When the mind there in its world of images says that a
thing is pleasant or painful, here in the world of things it pur-
sues or avoids, — in a word, it acts. Apart from action the true
and false belong to the same category as the good and bad.
They differ, however, in the absolute character of the one and
the relative character of the other.

The mind thinks abstractions, as e.g. when it thinks the snub-
nosed, which in one sense is a snub-nose, and in another sense,

PSYCHOLOGY "7

if one thinks it actually, one would think it as a curvature with-
out the flesh in which the curvature is found. So too with math-
ematical figures, though in actuality not separate from bodies,
the mind thinks them as separated, when it thinks them. Ina
word the mind is the thing when actually thinking it. Whether
or not it is possible to think-any abstraction when the.mind it-
self is not separate from magnitude, must be investigated later.

CHAPTER VIII. IDEAS AND IMAGES

Looxinc at the main features of what has been said of the
soul, let us reiterate the statement that it is in asense all reality.
For everything, whether sensible or intelligible, is psychical;
intelligible objects are in a sense knowledge, and sensible reali-
ties are sensations. How this is possible remains to be investi-
gated. Conceptual knowledge and sense-perception are each
divided into two minds, corresponding to their objects; potential
knowledge corresponding to potential objects, and actual to
actual. The sensitive and conceptual powers of the soul are,
potentially regarded, the objective things, viz. the intelligible
and the sensible. The soul, then, must be either the things
themselves or their form. It cannot, of course, be the things
themselves. For a stone is not in the soul, but the form or idea
of the stone. Consequently, the soul is to be thought of as a
hand; for a hand is the instrument of all instruments, and the
reason is the form of all forms and sensation in the form of all
sensible realities. Since, however, there is no object, as is sup-
posed, apart from sensible magnitudes, it follows that intel-
ligible objects, — I mean abstractions, as we call them, on the
one hand, and the qualities and conditions of the sensibles,
on the other, —.must be sought in the sense-forms. For this
reason, also, it would be impossible for one to learn anything
or understand anything without sense-perception, and when
one contemplates a thing, one is forced to contemplate it in
conjunction with an internal image. These images are like
sense-presentations, with the exception that they are without
matter. Imagination is different from affirmation and nega-

78 ARISTOTLE

tion; for the true and the false are the combination of ideas into
a judgment. In what way are the primary ideas to be distin-
guished from imagination? Or is it true that these ideas are not
themselves images, yet they cannot be produced independently
of images?

CHAPTER IX. REASON AND DESIRE

SINCE the soul of living beings is defined in terms of two
powers, viz. the power of judgment (which is the function of
thought) and the power of sensation on the one hand, and the
power of locomotion on the other, let the above suffice for our
treatment of sensation and thought, and let us now consider
the moving principle and ask what part of the soul it may be.
The further question arises whether it is an individual part of
the soul and separate, either concretely or notionally, or whether
it is the entire soul. If it is only a part, we must ask whether
it is a peculiar part and distinct from those usually described
and already mentioned here, or whether it is one of these. There
is a difficulty at the start concerning the sense in which we are
to employ the term ‘parts’ of the soul, and concerning their
number. Forin acertain way they seem to be innumerable, and
not merely confined to those which certain writers distinguish,
viz. reason, will, and desire,’ and others classify as rational and
irrational elements. For according to the differences by which
they distinguish these parts, there seem to be other parts that
are even more distinct from each other than these, concerning
which we have just now spoken, viz. the nutritive part, which
is found even in plants as well as in all animals, and the sensi-
tive part, which one could not easily classify either as irrational
or asrational. Again, the power of imagination, which is differ-
ent in its mode of being from the others, appears to be a distinct
part, but in what particular it is identical with or different from
the others, is very difficult to say, if one is to regard the parts
of the soul as existing independently of one another. In addi-
tion to these, there is the desiderative part, which both notion-

1 Plato, Republic 441 A (Aoyiorixdy, Oupoedés, éxcOuunriKdy),

PSYCHOLOGY 8

ally and functionally might be supposed to differ from all the
other parts. And yet it would be absurd to sever this from the
others. For it is in the thinking element that volition arises,
and in the irrational element we have desire and passion. But
if the soul has three distinct parts, then the desiderative ele-
ment must be in all of them. Moreover, the question again
comes up which we raised just now, viz. what is the principle in
animals that produces locomotion? One might suppose that it
is the generative and nutritive powers, found in all living
things, that produce the motion involved in growth and decay
common to them all. The subjects of inspiration and expira-
tion, sleeping and waking, must be investigated later, for all of
them present great difficulties. But regarding locomotion, we
must inquire what it is that gives animals the power of pro-
gressive movement. It is evidently not the nutritive power, for
progressive movement is always towards some end and accom-
panied either by some image or desire. For where there is no
desire or revulsion, there is no motion, excepting where exter-
nal force is used. Further, if motion were due to the nutritive
power, plants would be capable of locomotion and would have
some organic member adapted to this motion. So, too, it
cannot be the sensitive power that is the source of motion; for
there are many animals which have sensation and yet, through-
out their existence, are stationary and motionless. If, then,
nature creates nothing in vain, neither does she omit anything
that is necessary, save in cases of deformed or imperfect beings.
And such animals as we have in mind are normal and not de-
formed. A test of perfection is the capacity to reproduce, to
reach the prime of growth, and then decline. Consequently,
such animals should also have organs of movement.

But neither is the thinking power nor what we call reason the
cause of animal motion. For the contemplative power does not
think upon what is to be carried into execution, neither has it
anything to say touching what is to be avoided or pursued,
whereas motion always belongs to that which pursues or avoids
an object. On the contrary, when one contemplates anything,
the mind does not bid one pursue or avoid; e.g. the fearful or

80 ~ ARISTOTLE

pleasant is often the subject of thought, but the feeling of fear
is not suggested; the heart, however, is agitated, or if the feeling
is pleasure, some other organ is stirred. More than this, even
when the reason commands and intelligence tells us to avoid or
to pursue a thing, motion does not follow, but one acts accord-
ing to one’s desire, like an intemperate man. We observe, in
general, that the man versed in medicine does not heal, because
it is something other than science that has the power of acting
according to the principles of science. Neither, again, is desire
the dominating principle in this motion; for continent men,
though filled with desire and appetite, do not do the things for
which they lust; on the contrary, they follow reason.

CHAPTER X. PSYCHOLOGY AND CONDUCT

THERE are two powers in the soul which appear to be moving
forces — desire and reason, if one classifies imagination as a
kind of reason. For many creatures follow their imaginations
contrary to rational knowledge, and in animals other than
man it is not thought nor rational procedure that determines
action, but imagination. Consequently, both of these, rea-
son and desire, can produce locomotion — I mean here the
reason that considers ends and is concerned with conduct. It
differs from the theoretical reason in having a moral end.
Every desire aims at something. It is the final end that is the
initial cause in conduct. So that it is reasonable to regard
these two principles, viz. desire and practical reason, as motor
forces. For the object of desire stimulates us, and through it
reason stimulates us, because the object of desire is the main
thing in the practical reason. Imagination, too, when it stimu-
lates us to action, does not do so independently of desire. The
one single moving force is the object of desire. For even if
there were two moving powers, reason and desire, still they
would produce movement in accordance with some common
idea. As a matter of fact, however, reason does not appear to
produce movement independently of desire. For volition is a
form of desire, and when one is prompted to action in accord-

PSYCHOLOGY 81

ance with reason, the action follows also in accordance with
volition. But desire prompts actions in violation of reason. For
appetite is a sort of desire. Reason, then, isin every case right,
but desire and imagination may be right or wrong. It is, there-
fore, always the object of desire that excites action, and this is
either the good or the apparent good — yet not every good, but
only the good in conduct, and this practical good admits of
variation.

Evidently the psychical power which excites to action has the
nature of desire, as we call it. In analysing the elements of the
soul, if one analyses and distinguishes them in terms of powers,
they become very numerous, as e.g. the nutritive, sensitive,
rational, deliberative, and desiderative. For these differ from
each other more than do the desiderative and spirited elements.
Although desires arise which are opposed to each other, as is the
case when reason and appetite are opposed, it happens only in
creatures endowed with asense of time. (For reason, on account
of the future, bids us resist, while desire regards the present; the
momentarily pleasant appears to it as the absolutely pleasant
and the absolutely good, because it does not see the future.)
The moving principle, which is the desiderative faculty as such,
is specifically one, though numerically several motive forces
may be included in it. The main element here is the object of
desire (for this by being the object of thought or imagination
excites movement, while it is itself unmoved). There are, then,
three terms to consider here: first the motor power, secondly
the instrument of motion, and thirdly the object set in motion.
The motor power is twofold: on the one hand, it is an unmoved
element, and on the other, a moving and moved element. The
unmoved element is the good to be done; the moving and moved
element is the desiderative faculty (for the desiderative faculty
in so far as it desires is moved, and desire in process of realiza-
tion is a form of motion); the object which is set in motion is
the animal. The instrument by which desire effects motion,
is of course the body, and consequently it must be investigated
where we have to do with functions which are common to the
body and the soul. One may, however, say summarily here that

82 ARISTOTLE

motion is organic in those cases where beginning and end are
one, as ¢.g.in a joint. For here the convex and concave are
beginning and end. Therefore the one is at rest and the other
in motion, and while they are notionally distinct, they are con-
cretely inseparable. Everything is set in motion by push or
pull, and there must be, consequently, a fixed point, as the cen-
tre in a circle, and this is the initial point of motion. In a word,
then, as we said before, an animal in so far as it is capable of
' desire is capable of self-movement. Desire, however, is not
found apart from imagination, and all imagination is either
rational or sensitive in origin, and the lower animals share in it.

CHAPTER XI. THE MOVING PRINCIPLE

WE must inquire also into the nature of the moving princi-
ple in those imperfect animals which possess only the sense of
touch. Is it possible for them to have imagination or desire?
They appear to feel pleasure and pain, and if these are felt they
must necessarily have desire also. But how could they have
imagination? Or are we to say that just as their movements are
indefinite, so too this power is possessed by them, only it is
infinitely developed. Imagination derived from sensation is, as
we said before, found in the lower animals, but deliberative
imagination is found only in those animals which are endowed
with reason. For whether one shall do this or that is, of course,
a matter of deliberation, and there must be some single instru-
ment of measurement at hand (for it is the greater good that is
to be pursued), and so the mind is able to make a single repre-
sentation out of several images. The ground for supposing that
animals do not have opinion is that they do not have the faculty
for drawing rational conclusions, and opinion involves this. —
Consequently, their desire lacks the deliberative quality.
Sometimes the desire overpowers the deliberative element in
man and excites to action. At other times the will overpowers
the desire, and again, like a ball tossed to and fro, one desire
overpowers another, as in the case of intemperance. In the
workings of nature the higher element always has the greater

PSYCHOLOGY eas

authority and is the moving power. There are, then, three forms
of movement. The faculty of conceptual thought is not moved,
but remains at rest. Since we have two principles in conduct,
on the one hand the general conception and notion, and on the
other hand the particular notion (of which the one says a man
of such and such a kind shall act in such a way, and the other
that this particular man — and I am that particular man —
shall act in a given way), it is the latter notion that incites to
action, but the general one does not. Or both of them combined
may lead to action, although the general notion is quiescent,
and the particular one active.

ZENO
(356-264)

From DIOGENES LAERTIUS’ LIVES
AND OPINIONS OF EMINENT
PHILOSOPHERS

Translated from the Greek*® by
CHARLES D. YONGE

BOOK Vilv THE \PSYCHOLOGY OF THE STOICs

THE Stoics have chosen to treat, in the first place, of percep-
tion and sensation, because the criterion by which the truth of
facts is ascertained is a kind of perception, and because the
judgment which expresses the belief, and the comprehension,
and the understanding of a thing, a judgment which precedes
all others, cannot exist without perception. For perception
leads the way; and then thought, finding vent in expressions,
explains in words the feelings which it derives from perception.
But there is a difference between davracia and davtacua. For
gavracpua is a conception of the intellect, such as takes place in
sleep; but ¢avracia is an impression, TU7wois, produced on
the mind, that is to say, an alteration, aAXolwois, as Chry-
sippus states in the twelfth book of his treatise on the Soul.
For we must not take this impression to resemble that made by
a seal, since it is impossible to conceive that there should be
many impressions made at the same time on the same thing.
But ¢avracia is understood to be that which is impressed,
and formed, and imprinted by a real object, according to a real
object, in such a way asit could not be by any other than a real
object; and, according to their ideas of the davtaciat, some are

* From Avwyévous Aaeprlov rept Biov Soyudrwy kal dmropbeyudrwv Trav év pid-

ogopla ebdoxynodrrwy BiBdla déka. Reprinted from Diogenes Laertius’s Lives and
Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, translated by C. D. Yonge. Lond., 1853.

DIOGENES LAERTIUS’ LIVES 85

sensible, and some are not. Those they call sensible, which are
derived by us from some one or more senses; and those they
call not sensible, which emanate directly from the thought, as
for instance, those which relate to incorporeal objects, or any
others which are embraced by reason. Again, those which are
sensible, are produced by a real object, which imposes itself on
the intelligence, and compels its acquiescence; and there are
also some others, which are simply apparent, mere shadows,
which resemble those which are produced by real objects.

Again, these ¢avtdova are divided into rational and irra-
tional; those which are rational belong to animals capable of
reason; those which are irrational to animals destitute of reason.
Those which are rational are thoughts; those which areirrational
have no name; but are again subdivided into artificial and not
artificial. At all events, an image is contemplated in a different
light by a man skilful in art, from that in which it is viewed by a
man ignorant of art.

By sensation, the Stoics understand a species of breath which
proceeds from the dominant portion of the soul to the senses,
whether it be a sensible perception, or an organic disposition;
which, according to the notions of some of them, is crippled
and vicious. They also call sensation the energy, or active exer-
cise, of the sense. According to them, it is to sensation that we
owe our comprehension of white and black, and rough and
smooth: from reason, that we derive the notions which result
from a demonstration, those for instance which have for their
object the existence of Gods, and of Divine Providence. For
all our thoughts are formed either by indirect perception, or by
similarity, or analogy, or transposition, or combination, or oppo-
sition. By a direct perception, we perceive those things which
are the objects of sense; by similarity, those which start from
some point present to our senses; as, for instance, we form an
idea of Socrates from his likeness. We draw our conclusions by
analogy, adopting either an increased idea of the thing, as of
Tityus, or the Cyclops; or a diminished idea, as of a pigmy. So,
too, the idea of the centre of the world was one derived by
analogy from what we perceived to be the case of the smaller

86 ZENO

spheres. We use transposition when we fancy eyes in a man’s
breast; combination, when we take in the idea of a Centaur;
opposition, when we turn our thoughts to death. Some ideas
we also derive from comparison, for instance, from a compari-
son of words and places.

There is also nature; as by nature we comprehend what is
just and good. And privation, when for instance, we form a
notion of a man without hands. Such are the doctrines of the
Stoics, on the subject of phantasia, and sensation, and thought.

XXXVII. They say that the proper criterion of truth is the
comprehension, ¢avracia; that is to say, one which is derived
from a real object, as Chrysippus asserts in the twelfth book of
his Physics; and he is followed by Antipater and Apollodorus.
For Boethius leaves a great many criteria, such as intellect,
sensation, appetite, and knowledge; but Chrysippus dissents
from his view, and in the first book of his treatise on Reason,
says, that sensation and preconception are the only criteria.
And preconception is, according to him, a comprehensive
physical notion of general principles. But others of the earlier
Stoics admit right reason as one criterion of the truth; for in-
stance, this is the opinion of Posidonius, and is advanced by
him in his essay on Criteria.

LXIII. The Stoics also say that the mind is divisible into
eight parts; for that the five organs of sensation, and the vocal
power, and the intellectual power, which is the mind itself, and
the generative power, are all parts of the mind. But by error,
there is produced a perversion which operates on the intellect,
from which many perturbations arise, and many causes of in-
constancy. And all perturbation is itself, according to Zeno, a
movement of the mind, or superfluous inclination, which is
irrational, and contrary to nature. Moreover, of the superior
_ class of perturbations, as Hecaton says, in the second book of
his treatise on the Passions, and as Zeno also says in his work
on the Passions, there are four kinds, grief, fear, desire, and
pleasure. And they consider that these perturbations are judg-
ments, as Chrysippus contends in his work on the Passions; for
covetousness is an opinion that money is a beautiful object, and

DIOGENES LAERTIUS’ LIVES 87

in like manner drunkenness and intemperance, and other things
of the sort, are judgments. And grief they define to be an irra-
tional contraction of the mind, and it is divided into the follow-
ing species, pity, envy, emulation, jealousy, pain, perturbation,
sorrow, anguish, confusion. Pity is a grief over some one, on the
ground of his being in undeserved distress. Envy is a grief, at
the good fortune of another. Emulation is a grief at that be-
longing to some one else, which one desires one’s self. Jealousy
is a grief at another also having what one has one’s self. Pain is
a grief which weighs one down. Perturbation is grief which
narrows one, and causes one to feel in a strait. Sorrow is a
grief arising from deliberate thought, which endures for some
time, and gradually increases. Anguish is a grief with acute
pain. Confusion is an irrational grief, which frets one, and pre-
vents one from clearly discerning present circumstances. But
fear is the expectation of evil; and the following feelings are all
classed under the head of fear: apprehension, hesitation, shame,
perplexity, trepidation, and anxiety. Apprehension is a fear
which produces alarm. Shame is a fear of discredit. Hesitation
is a fear of coming activity. Perplexity is a fear, from the im-
agination of some unusual thing. Trepidation is a fear accom-
panied with an oppression of the voice. Anxiety is a fear of
some uncertain event.

Again, desire is an irrational appetite; to which head, the
following feelings are referrible: want, hatred, contentiousness,
anger, love, enmity, rage. Want is a desire arising from our
not having something or other, and is, as it were, separated
from the thing, but is still stretching, and attracted towards it
in vain. And hatred is a desire that it should be ill with some
one, accompanied with a certain continual increase and exten-
sion. Contentiousness is a certain desire accompanied with
deliberate choice. Anger is a desire of revenge, on a person who
appears to have injured one in an unbecoming way. Love is a
desire not conversant about a virtuous object, for it is an at-
tempt to conciliate affection, because of some beauty which is
seen. Enmity is a certain anger of long duration, and full of
hatred, and it is a watchful passion, as is shown in the following
holies:

88 ZENO

For though we deem the short-liv’d fury past,
Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last.*

But rage is anger at its commencement.

Again, pleasure is an irrational elation of the mind over
something which appears to be desirable; and its different
species are enjoyment, rejoicing at evil, delight, and extrava-
gant joy. Enjoyment, now, is a pleasure which charms the
mind through the ears. Rejoicing at evil (é7uyatpexaxid), isa
pleasure which arises at the misfortunes of others. Delight
(répyus) that is to say turning (tpé\xs), is a certain turning of
the soul (zpotpomn tus uyijs), to softness. Extravagant joy
is the dissolution of virtue. And as there are said to be some
sicknesses (appwotTnpuata) in the body, as, for instance, gout and
arthritic disorders; so too are those diseases of the soul, such as
a fondness for glory, or for pleasure, and other feelings of that
sort. For an app@ornua is a disease accompanied with weak-
ness; and a disease is an opinion of something which appears ex-
ceedingly desirable. And, as in the case of the body, there are
illnesses to which people are especially liable, such as colds or
diarrhcea; so also are there propensities which the mind is under
the influence of, such as enviousness, pitifulness, quarrelsome-
ness, and so on. «

There are also three good dispositions of the mind; joy,
caution, and will. And joy they say is the opposite of pleasure,
since it is a rational elation of the mind; so caution is the oppo-
site of fear, being a rational avoidance of anything, for the wise
man will never be afraid, but he will act with caution; and will,
they define as the opposite of desire, since it is a rational wish.
As therefore some things fall under the class of the first per-
turbations, in the same manner do some things fall under the
class of the first good dispositions. And accordingly, under the
head of will, are classed goodwill, placidity, salutation, affec-
tion; and under the head of caution are ranged reverence and
modesty; under the head of joy, we speak of delight, mirth,
and good spirits.

* Hom. Il. 1. 81. Pope’s Version, 1. 105.

EPICURUS
(341-270)

From DIOGENES LAERTIUS’ LIVES AND
OPINIONS OF EMINENT ,
PHILOSOPHERS

Translated from the Greek by
CHARLES D. YONGE

BOOK X. THE EPICUREAN PSYCHOLOGY

XX. Now, in the Canon, Epicurus says that the criteria of
truth are the senses, the preconceptions, and thepassions. But
the Epicureans, in general, add also the perceptive impressions
of the intellect. And he says the same thing in his Abridg-
ment, which he addresses to Herodotus, and also in his Funda-
mental Principles. For, says he, the senses are devoid of reason,
nor are they capable of receiving any impressions of memory.
For they are not by themselves the cause of any motion, and
when they have received any impression from any external
cause, then they can add nothing to it, nor can they subtract
anything from it. Moreover, they are out of the reach of any
control; for one sensation cannot judge of another which re-
sembles itself; for they have all an equal value. Nor can one
judge of another which is different from itself; since their ob-
jects are not identical. In a word, one sensation cannot control
another, since the effects of all of them influence us equally.
Again, the reason cannot pronounce on the senses; for we have
already said that all reasoning has the senses for its foundation.
Reality and the evidence of sensation establish the certainty of
the senses; for the impressions of sight and hearing are just as
real, just as evident, as pain.

It follows from these considerations that we ought to judge
of things which are obscure by their analogy to those which

go EPICURUS

we perceive directly. In fact, every notion proceeds from the
senses, either directly, or in consequence of some analogy, or
proportion, or combination. Reasoning having always a share
in these last operations. The visions of insanity and of sleep
have a real object, for they act upon us; and that which has no
reality can produce no action.

XXI. By preconception, the Epicureans mean a sort of
comprehension as it were, or right opinion, or notion, or general
idea which exists in us; or, in other words, the recollection of an
external object often perceived anteriorly. Such for instance, is
this idea: “‘ Man is a being of such and such a nature.”’ At the
same moment that we utter the word man, we conceive the fig-
ure of a man, in virtue of a preconception which we owe to the
preceding operations of the senses. Therefore, the first notion
which each word awakens in us isacorrect one; in fact, we could
not seek for anything if we had not previously some notion of
it. To enable us to affirm that what we see at a distance is a
horse or an ox, we must have some preconception in our
minds which makes us acquainted with the form of a horse
and an ox. We could not give names to things, if we had not
a preliminary notion of what the things were.

XXII. These preconceptions then furnish us with certainty.
And with respect to judgments, their certainty depends on our
referring them to some previous notion, of itself certain, in virtue
of which we affirm such and such a judgment; for instance,
‘“ How do we know whether this thing is a man?”

The Epicureans call opinion (60a) also supposition (é7-
Anus). And say that it is at times true, and at times false; for
that, if it is supported by testimony, and not contradicted by
testimony, then it is true; but if it is not supported by testi-
mony, and is contradicted by testimony, then it is false. On
which account they have introduced the expression of “ wait-
ing,” as if, before pronouncing that a thing seen is a tower, we
must wait till we come near, and learn what it looks like when
we are near it.

XXIII. They say that there are two passions, pleasure and
pain, which affect everything alive. And that the one isnatural,

DIOGENES LAERTIUS’ LIVES gI

and the other foreign to our nature; with reference to which all
objects of choice and avoidance are judged of. They say also,
that there are two kinds of investigation; the one about facts,
the other about mere words. And this is as far as an element-
ary sketch can go — their doctrine about division, and about
the criterion.

XXIV. Let us now go to the letter: —

EPICURUS TO HERODOTUS, WISHING HE MAY DO WELL

““MOREOVER, there are images resembling, as far as their
form goes, the solid bodies which we see, but which differ mater-
ially from them in the thinness of their substance. In fact it is
not impossible but that there may be in space some secretions
of this kind, and an aptitude to form surfaces without depth, and
of an extreme thinness; or else that from the solids there may
emanate some particles which preserve the connection, the dis-
position, and the motion which they had in the body. I give
the name of images to these representations; and, indeed, their
movement through the vacuum taking place, without meeting
any obstacle or hindrance, perfects all imaginable extent in an
inconceivable moment of time; for it is the meeting of obsta-
cles, or the absence of obstacles, which produces the rapidity
or the slowness of their motion. At all events, a body in motion
does not find itself, at any moment imaginable, in two places at
the same time; that is quite inconceivable. From whatever
point of infinity it arrives at some appreciable moment, and
whatever may be the spot in its course in which we perceive its
motion, it has evidently quitted that spot at the moment of our
thought; for this motion which, as we have admitted up to this
point, encounters no obstacle to its rapidity, is wholly in the
same condition as that the rapidity of which is diminished by
the shock of some resistance.

“Tt is useful, also, to retain this principle, and to know that
the images have an incomparable thinness; which fact indeed
is in no respect contradicted by sensible appearances. From
which it follows that their rapidity also is incomparable; for

92 EPICURUS

they find everywhere an easy passage, and besides, their infinite
smallness causes them to experience no shock, or at all events
to experience but a very slight one, while an infinite multitude
of elements very soon encounter some resistance.

“‘One must not forget that the production of images is simul-
taneous with the thought; for from the surface of the bodies
images of this kind are continually flowing off in an insensible
manner indeed, because they are immediately replaced. They
preserve for a long time the same disposition, and the same
arrangement that the atoms do in the solid body, although, not-
withstanding, their form may be sometimes altered. The direct
production of images in space is equally instantaneous, because
these images are only light substances destitute of depth.

“But there are other manners in which natures of this kind
are produced; for there is nothing in all this which at all contra-
dicts the senses, if one only considers in what way the senses
are exercised, and if one is inclined to explain the relation
which is established between external objects and ourselves.
Also, one must admit that something passes from external
objects into us in order to produce in us sight and the knowledge
of forms; for it is difficult to conceive that external objects can
affect us through the medium of the air which is between us
and them, or by means of rays, whatever emissions proceed
from us to them, so as to give us an impression of their form and
colour. This phenomenon, on the contrary, is perfectly ex-
plained, if we admit that certain images of the same colour, of
the same shape, and of a proportionate magnitude pass from
these objects to us, and so arrive at being seen and compre-
hended. These images are animated by an exceeding rapidity,
and, as on the other side, the solid object forming a compact
mass, and comprising a vast quantity of atoms, emits always
the same quantity of particles, the vision is continued, and only
produces in us one single perception which preserves always the
same relation to the object. Every conception, every sensible
perception which bears upon the form or the other attributes
of these images, is only the same form of the solid perceived
directly, either in virtue of a sort of actual and continued con-

DIOGENES LAERTIUS’ LIVES 93

densation of the image, or in consequence of the traces which
it has left in us.

‘Error and false judgments always depend upon the suppo-
sition that a preconceived idea will be confirmed, or at all
events will not be overturned, by evidence. Then, when it is
not confirmed, we form our judgment in virtue of a sort of
initiation of the thoughts connected, it is true with the per-
ception, and with a direct representation; but still connected
also with a conception peculiar to ourselves, which is the parent
of error. In fact the representations which intelligence reflects
like a mirror, whether one perceives them in a dream, or by any
other conceptions of the intellect, or of any other of the criteria,
can never resemble the objects that one calls real and true, un-
less there were objects of this kind perceived directly. And, on
the other side, error could not be possible, if we did not receive
some other motion also, a sort of initiative of intelligence con-
nected; it is true with direct representation, but going beyond
that representative. These conceptions being connected with
the direct perception which produces the representation, but
going beyond it, in consequence of a motion peculiar to the
individual thought, produces error when it is not confirmed by
evidence, or when it is contradicted by evidence; but when it is
confirmed, or when it is not contradicted by evidence, then it
produces truth.

““We must carefully preserve these principles in order not to
reject the authority of the faculties which perceive truth di-
rectly; and not, on the other hand, to allow what is false to be
established with equal firmness, so as to throw everything into
confusion.

“Let us now return to the study of the affections, and of the
sensations; for this will be the best method of proving that the
soul is a bodily substance composed of slight particles, diffused
over all the members of the body, and presenting a great anal-
ogy to a sort of spirit, having an admixture of heat, resembling
at one time one, and at another time the other of those two
principles. There exists in it a special part, endowed with an

94, EPICURUS

extreme mobility, in consequence of the exceeding slightness of
the elements which compose it, and also in reference to its
more immediate sympathy with the rest of the body. That it is
which the faculties of the soul sufficiently prove, and the pas-
sions, and the mobility of its nature, and the thoughts, and, ina
word, everything, the privation of which is death. We must
admit that it is in the soul most especially that the principle
of sensation resides. At the same time, it would not possess
this power if it were not enveloped by the rest of the body which
communicates it to it, and in its turn receives it from it; but
only in a certain measure; for there are certain affections of the
soul of which it is not capable.

“Tt is on that account that, when the soul departs, the body
is no longer possessed of sensation; for it has not this power,
(that of sensation namely) in itself; but, on the other hand,
this power can only manifest itself in the soul through the
medium of the body. The soul, reflecting the manifestations
which are accomplished in the substance which environs it,
realises in itself, in a virtue or power which belongs to it, the
sensible affections, and immediately communicates them to the
body in virtue of the reciprocal bonds of sympathy which unite
it to the body; that is the reason why the destruction of a part
of the body does not draw afterit a cessation of all feeling in
the soul while it resides in the body, provided that the senses
still preserve some energy; although, nevertheless, the disso-
lution of the corporeal covering, or even of any one of its por-
tions, may:sometimes bring on with it the destruction of the
soul.

“The rest of the body, on the other hand, even when it re-
mains, either as a whole, or in any part, loses all feeling by the
dispersion of that aggregate of atoms, whatever it may be, that
forms the soul. When the entire combination of the body is
dissolved, then the soul too is dissolved, and ceases to retain
those faculties which were previously inherent in it, and espe-
cially the power of motion; so that sensation perishes equally
as far as the soul is concerned; for it is impossible to imagine
that it still feels, from the moment when it is no longer in the

DIOGENES LAERTIUS’ LIVES 95

same conditions of existence, and no longer possesses the same
movements of existence in reference to the same organic sys-
tem; from the moment, in short, when the things which cover
and surround it are no longer such, that it retains in them the
same movements as before.

(Epicurus expresses the same ideas in other works, and adds
that the soul is composed of atoms of the most perfect light-
ness and roundness; atoms wholly different from those of fire.
He distinguishes in it the irrational part which is diffused over
the whole body, from the rational part which has its seat in
the chest, as is proved by the emotions of fear and joy. He
adds that sleep is produced when the parts of the soul diffused
over the whole of the body concentre themselves, or when they
disperse and escape by the pores of the body; for particles ema-
nate from all bodies.)

“It must also be observed, that I use the word incorporeal
(a4o@parTos) in the usual acceptation of the word, to express
that which is in itself conceived as such. Now, nothing can
be conceived in itself as incorporeal except the vacuum; but
the vacuum cannot be either passive or active; it is only the
condition and the place of movement. Accordingly, they who
pretend that the soul is incorporeal, utter words destitute of
sense; for, if it had this character, it would not be able either
to do or to suffer anything; but, as it is, we see plainly enough
that it is liable to both these circumstances.

“Let us then apply all these reasonings to the affections and
sensations, recollecting the ideas which we laid down at the
beginning, and then we shall see clearly that these general
principles contain an exact solution of all the particular cases.

‘* As to forms, and hues, and magnitudes, and weight, and the
other qualities which one looks upon as attributes, whether it
be of every body, or of those bodies only which are visible and
perceived by the senses, this is the point of view under which
they ought to be considered: they are not particular sub-
stances, having a peculiar existence of their own, for that can-
not be conceived; nor can one say any more that they have no
reality at all. They are not incorporeal substances inherent in

96 _ _EPICURUS

the body, norare they parts of the body. But they constitute
by their union the eternal substance and the essence of the en-
tire body. We must not fancy, however, that the body is com-
posed of them, as an aggregate is formed of particles of the
smallest dimensions of atoms or magnitudes, whatever they
may be, smaller than the compound body itself; they only con-
stitute by their union, I repeat, the eternal substance of the
body. Each of these attributes has ideas and particular per-
ceptions which correspond toit; but they cannot be perceived
independently of the whole subject taken entirely; the union
of all these perceptions forms the idea of the body. Bodies often
possess other attributes which are not eternally inherent in
them, but which, nevertheless, cannot be ranged among the
incorporeal and invisible things. Accordingly, it is sufficient to
express the general idea of the movement of transference to en-
able us to conceive in amoment certain distinct qualities, and
those combined beings, which, being taken in their totality,
receive the name of bodies; and the necessary and eternal at-
tributes without which the body cannot be conceived.

“There are certain conceptions corresponding to these attri-
butes; but, nevertheless, they cannot be known abstractedly,
and independently of some subjects; and further, inasmuch
as they are not attributes necessarily inherent in the idea of a
body, one can only conceive them in the moment in which
they are visible; they are realities nevertheless; and one must
not refuse to them an existence merely because they have
neither the characteristic of the compound beings to which we
give the name of bodies, nor that of the eternal attributes. We
should be equally deceived if we were to suppose that they have
a separate and independent existence; for that is true neither of
them nor of theeternal attributes. They are, as one sees plainly,
accidents of the body; accidents which do not of necessity make
any part of its nature; which cannot be considered as indepen-
dent substances, but still to each of which sensation gives the
peculiar character under which it appears to us.”

TITUS LUCRETIUS CARUS
(95-51) |
ON THE NATURE OF THINGS

Translated from the Latin* by
H. A. J. MUNRO

BOOK III. THE MIND

First then I say that the mind which we often call the un-
derstanding, in which dwells the directing and governing prin-
ciple of life, is no less part of the man, than hand and foot and
eyes are parts of the whole living creature. [Some however
affirm] that the sense of the mind does not dwell in a distinct
part, but is a certain vital state of the body, which the Greeks
call harmonia, because by it, they say, we live with sense, though
the understanding is in no one part; just as when good health
is said to belong to the body, though yet it is not any one part
of the man in health. In this way they do not assign a distinct
part to the sense of the mind; in all which they appear to me
to be grievously at fault in more ways than one. Oftentimes the
body which is visible to sight, is sick, while yet we have pleasure
in another hidden part; and oftentimes the case is the very
reverse, the man who is unhappy in mind feeling pleasure in his
whole body; just as if, while a sick man’s foot is pained, the
head meanwhile should be in no pain at all. Moreover when
the limbs are consigned to soft sleep and the burdened body lies
diffused without sense, there is yet a something else in us which
during that time is moved in many ways and admits into it all

* From TJ. Lucretii Cari De Rerum Natura libri sex.. Reprinted from Lu-

cretius’ On the Nature of Things, translated by H. A. J. Munro, London,
1864; 786.

98 LUCRETIUS

the motions of joy and unreal cares of the heart. Now that you
may know that the soul as well is in the limbs and that the
body is not wont to have sense by any harmony, this is a main
proof: when much of the body has been taken away, still life
often stays in the limbs; and yet the same life, when a few
bodies of heat have been dispersed abroad and some air has
been forced out through the mouth, abandons at once the veins
and quits the bones: by this you may perceive that all bodies
have not functions of like importance nor alike uphold exist-
ence, but rather that those seeds which constitute wind and
heat, cause life to stay in the limbs. Therefore vital heat and
wind are within the body and abandon our frame at death.
Since then the nature of the mind and that of the soul have been
proved to be a part as it were of the man, surrender the name
of harmony, whether brought down to musicians from high
Helicon, or whether rather they have themselves taken it from
something else and transferred it to that thing which then was
in need of a distinctive name; whatever it be, let them keep it:
do you take in the rest of my precepts.

Now I assert that the mind and the soul are kept together
in close union and make up a single nature, but that the direct-
ing principle which we call mind and understanding, is the head
so to speak and reigns paramount in the whole body. It has a
fixed seat in the middle region of the breast: here throb fear and
apprehension, about these spots dwell soothing joys; therefore
here is the understanding or mind. All the rest of the soul dis-
seminated through the whole body obeys and moves at the will
and inclination of the mind. It by itself alone knows for itself,
rejoices for itself, at times when the impression does not move
either soul or body together with it. And as when some part
of us, the head or the eye, suffers from an attack of pain, we do
not feel the anguish at the same time over the whole body, thus
the mind sometimes suffers pain by itself or is inspirited with
joy, when all the rest of the soul throughout the limbs and
frame is stirred by no novel sensation. But when the mind is
excited by some more vehement apprehension, we see the whole
soul feel in unison through all the limbs, sweats and paleness

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS 99

spread over the whole body, the tongue falter, the voice die
away, a mist cover the eyes, the ears ring, the limbs sink un-
der one; in short we often see men drop down from terror of
mind; so that anybody may easily perceive from this that the
soul is closely united with the mind, and, when it has been
smitten by the influence of the mind, forthwith pushes and
strikes the body.

This same principle teaches that the nature of the mind and
soul is bodily; for when it is seen to push the limbs, rouse the
body from sleep, and alter the countenance and guide and turn
about the whole man, and when we see that none of these
effects can take place without touch nor touch without body,
must we not admit that the mind and the soul are of a bodily
nature? Again you perceive that our mind in our body suffers
together with the body and feels in unison with it. When a
weapon with a shudder-causing force has been driven in and has
laid bare bones and sinews within the body, if it does not take
life, yet there ensues a faintness and a lazy sinking to the
ground and on the ground the turmoil of mind which arises, and
sometimes a kind of undecided inclination to get up. Therefore
the nature of the mind must be bodily, since it suffers from
bodily weapons and blows.

I will now go on to explain in my verses of what kind of body
the mind consists and out of what it is formed. First of all Isay
that it is extremely fine and formed of exceedingly minute
bodies. That this is so you may, if you please to attend, clearly
perceive from what follows: nothing that is seen takes place
with a velocity equal to that of the mind when it starts some
suggestion and actually sets it agoing; the mind therefore is
stirred with greater rapidity than any of the things whose na-
ture stands out visible to sight. But that which is so passing
nimble, must consist of seeds exceedingly round and exceed-
ingly minute, in order to be stirred and set in motion by a small
moving power. Thus water is moved and heaves by ever so
small a force, formed as it is of small particles apt to roll. But
on the other hand the nature of honey is more sticky, its liquid
more sluggish and its movement more dilatory; for the whole

100 LUCRETIUS

mass of matter coheres more closely, because sure enough it is
made of bodies not so smooth, fine and round. A breeze how-
ever gentle and light can force, as you may see, a high heap of
poppy seed to be blown away from the top downwards; but on
the other hand eurus itself cannot move a heap of stones.
Therefore bodies possess a power of moving in proportion to
their smallness and smoothness; and on the other hand the
greater weight and roughness bodies prove to have, the more
stable they are. Since then the nature of the mind has been
found to be eminently easy to move, it must consist of bodies
exceedingly small,smooth and round. The knowledge of which
fact, my good friend, will on many accounts prove useful and
be serviceable to you. The following fact too likewise demon-
strates how fine the texture is of which its nature is composed,
and how small the room is in which it can be contained, could it
only be collected into one mass: soon as the untroubled sleep of
death has gotten hold of a man and the nature of the mind and
soul has withdrawn, you can perceive then no diminution of the
entire body either in appearance or weight: death makes all
good save the vital sense and heat. Therefore the whole soul
must consist of very small seeds and be inwoven through veins
and flesh and sinews; inasmuch as, after it has all withdrawn
from the whole body, the exterior contour of the limbs preserves
itself entire and not a tittle of the weight is lost. Just in the
same way when the flavour of wine is gone or when the delicious
aroma of a perfume has been dispersed into the air or when the
savour has left some body, yet the thing itself does not there-
fore look smaller to the eye, nor does aught seem to have been
taken from the weight, because sure enough many minute seeds
make up the savours and the odour in the whole body of the
several things. Therefore, again and again I say, you are to
know that the nature of the mind and the soul has been formed
of exceedingly minute seeds, since at its departure it takes away
none of the weight.

We are not however to suppose that this nature is single.
For a certain subtle spirit mixed with heat quits men at death,
and then the heat draws air along with it; there being no heat

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS IOI

which has not air too mixed with it: for since its nature is rare,
many first-beginnings of air must move about through it. Thus
the nature of the mind is proved to be threefold; and yet these
things all together are not sufficient to produce sense; since the
fact of the case does not admit that any of these can produce
sense-giving motions and the thoughts which a man turns over
in mind. Thus some fourth nature too must be added to these:
it is altogether without name; than it nothing exists more nim-
ble or more fine, or of smaller or smoother elements: it first
transmits the sense-giving motions through the frame; for it is
first stirred, made up as it is of small particles; next the heat
and the unseen force of the spirit receive the motions, then the
air; then all things are set in action, the blood is stirred, every
part of the flesh is filled with sensation; last of all the feel-
ing is transmitted to the bones and marrow, whether it be one
of pleasure or an opposite excitement. No pain however can
lightly pierce thus far nor any sharp malady make its way in,
without all things being so thoroughly disordered that no room
is left for life and the parts of the soul fly abroad through all
the pores of the body. But commonly a stop is put to these
motions on the surface as it were of the body: for this reason
we are able to retain life.

Now though I would fain explain in what way these are
mixed up together, by what means united, when they exert
their powers, the poverty of my native speech deters me sorely
against my will: yet will I touch upon them and in summary
fashion to the best of my ability: the first-beginnings by their
mutual motions are interlaced in such a way that none of them
can be separated by itself, nor can the function of any go on
divided from the rest by any interval; but they are so to say the
several powers of one body. Even so in any flesh of living crea-
ture you please without exception there is smell and some
colour and a savour, and yet out of all these is made up one
single bulk of body. Thus the heat and the air and the unseen
power of the spirit mixed together produce a single nature, to-
gether with that nimble force which transmits to them from
itself the origin of motion; by which means sense-giving motion

102 LUCRETIUS

first takes its rise through the fleshly frame. For this nature
lurks secreted in its inmost depths, and nothing in our body
is farther beneath all ken than it, and more than this it is the
very soul of the whole soul. Just in the same way as the power
of the mind and the function of the soul are latent in our limbs
and throughout our body, because they are each formed of small
and few bodies: even so, you are to know, this nameless power
made of minute bodies is concealed and is moreover the very
soul so to say of the whole soul, and reigns supreme in the whole
body. On a like principle the spirit and air and heat must, as
they exert their powers, be mixed up together through the
frame, and one must ever be more out of view or more promi-
nent than another, that a single substance may be seen to be
formed from the union of all, lest the heat and spirit apart by
themselves and the power of the air apart by itself should de-
stroy sense and dissipate it by their disunion. Thus the mind
possesses that heat which it displays when it boils up in anger
and fire flashes from the keen eyes; there is too much cold spirit
comrade of fear, which spreads a shivering over the limbs and
stirs the whole frame; yes and there is also that condition of
still air which has place when the breast is calm and the looks
cheerful. But they have more of the hot whose keen heart and
passionate mind lightly boil up in anger. Foremost in this class
comes the fierce violence of lions who often as they chafe break
their hearts with their roaring and cannot contain within their
breast the billows of their rage. Then the chilly mind of stags
is fuller of the spirit and more quickly rouses through all the
flesh its icy currents which cause a shivering motion to pass over
the limbs. But the nature of oxen has its life rather from the still
air, and never does the smoky torch of anger applied to it stimu-
late it too much, shedding over it the shadow of murky gloom,
nor is it transfixed and stiffened by the icy shafts of fear: it lies
between the other two, stags and cruel lions. And thus it is with
mankind: however much teaching renders some equally refined,
it yet leaves behind those earliest traces of the nature of each
mind; and we are not to suppose that evil habits can be so thor-
oughly plucked up by the roots, that one man shall not be more

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS 103

prone than another to keen anger, a second shall not be some-
what more quickly assailed by fear, a third shall not take some
things more meekly than is right. In many other points there
must be differences between the varied natures of men and the
tempers which follow upon these; though at present I am unable
to set forth the hidden causes of these or to find names enough
for the different shapes which belong to the first-beginnings,
from which shapes arises this diversity of things. What herein
I think I may affirm is this: traces of the different natures left
behind, which reason is unable to expel from us, are so exceed-
ingly slight that there is nothing to hinder us from living a life
worthy of gods.

Well this nature is contained by the whole body and is in
turn the body’s guardian and the cause of its existence; for the
two adhere together with common roots and cannot it is plain
be riven asunder without destruction. Even as it is not easy to
pluck the perfume out of lumps of frankincense without quite
destroying its nature as well; so it is not easy to withdraw from
the whole body the nature of the mind and soul without dis-
solving all alike. With first-beginnings so interlaced from their
earliest birth are they formed and gifted with a life of joint
partnership, and it is plain that the faculty of the body and of
the mind cannot feel separately, each alone without the other’s
power, but sense is kindled throughout our flesh and blown into
flame between the two by the joint motions on the’part of both.
Moreover the body by itself is never either begotten or grows
or, it is plain, continues to exist after death. For not in the way
that the liquid of water often loses the heat which has been
given to it, yet is not for that reason itself riven in pieces, but
remains unimpaired, — not in this way, I say, can the aban-
doned frame endure the separation of the soul, but riven in
pieces it utterly perishes and rots away. Thus the mutual con-
nexions of body and soul from the first moment of their exist-
ence learn the vital motions even while hid in the body and
womb of the mother, so that no separation can take place with-
out mischief and ruin. Thus you may see that, since the cause
of existence lies in their joint action, their nature too must be
a joint nature. |

104 LUCRETIUS

Furthermore if any one tries to disprove that the body feels
and believes that the soul mixed through the whole body takes
upon it this motion which we name sense, he combats even
manifest and undoubted facts. For who will ever bring for-
ward any explanation of what the body’s feeling is, except that
which the plain fact of the case has itself given and taught to
us? But when the soul it is said has departed, the body through-
out is without sense; yes, for it loses what was not its own pecul-
iar property in life; ay and much else it loses, before that soul
is driven out of it.

Again to say that the eyes can see no object, but that the
soul discerns through them as through an open door, is far from
easy, since their sense contradicts this; for this sense e’en draws
it and forces it out to the pupil: nay often we are unable to per-
ceive shining things, because our eyes are embarrassed by the
lights. But this is not the case with doors; for, because we our-
selves see, the open doors do not therefore undergo any fatigue.
Again if our eyes are in the place of doors, in that case when the
eyes are removed the mind ought it would seem to have more
power of seeing things, after doors, jambs and all, have been
taken out of the way.

And herein you must by no means adopt the opinion which
the revered judgment of the worthy man Democritus lays down,
that the first-beginnings of body and mind placed together in
successive layers come in alternate order and so weave the tis-
sue of our limbs. For not only are the elements of the soul
much smaller than those of which our body and flesh are
formed, but they are also much fewer in number and are dis-
seminated merely in scanty number through the frame, so that
you can warrant no more than this: the first-beginnings of the
soul keep spaces between them at least as great as are the small-
est bodies which, if thrown upon it, are first able to excite in our
body the sense-giving motions. Thus at times we do not feel
the adhesion of dust when it settles on our body, nor the
impact of chalk when it rests on our limbs, nor do we feel a mist
at night nor a spider’s slender threads as they come against us,
when we are caught in its meshes in moving along, nor the same

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS 105

insect’s flimsy web when it has fallen on our head, nor the
feathers of birds and down of plants as it flies about, which
commonly from exceeding lightness does not lightly fall, nor do
we feel the tread of every creeping creature whatsoever nor
each particular foot-print which gnats and the like stamp on our
body. So very many first-beginnings must be stirred in us,
before the seeds of the soul mixed up in our bodies feel that
these have been disturbed, and by thumping with such spaces
between can clash unite and in turn recoil.

The mind has more to do with holding the fastnesses of life
and has more sovereign sway over it than the power of the soul.
For without the understanding and the mind no part of thesoul
can maintain itself in the frame the smallest fraction of time,
but follows at once in the other’s train and passes away into the
air and leaves the cold limbs in the chill of death. But he abides
in life whose mind and understanding continue tostay with him:
though the trunk is mangled with its limbs shorn all round
about it, after the soul has been taken away on all sides and
been severed from the limbs the trunk yet lives and inhales the
ethereal airs of life. When robbed, if not of the whole, yet of a
large portion of the soul, it still lingers in and cleaves to life; just
as, after the eye has been lacerated all round if the pupil has
continued uninjured, the living power of sight remains, provided
always you do not destroy the whole ball of the eye and pare
close round the pupil and leave only it; for that will not be done
even to the ball without the entire destruction of the eye. But.
if that middle portion of the eye, small as it is, is eaten into, the
sight is gone at once and darkness ensues, though a man have
the bright ball quite unimpaired. On such terms of union soul
and mind are ever bound to each other.

an > a

PLOTINUS

(205 a.D.—270)

ENNEADES

Translated from the Greek* by
THOMAS TAYLOR

Vile SP THE SCU.L
(Iv. VII)

I. WHETHER each [part] of us is immortal, or the whole
perishes, or one part of us is dissipated and corrupted, but an-
other part perpetually remains, which part is the man himself,
may be learned by considering conformably to nature as fol-
lows: Man, indeed, is not something simple, but there is in him
asoul, and he has also a body, whether it is annexed to us asan
instrument, or after some other manner. However this may be,
it must be admitted, that the nature and essence of each of
these must be thus divided. Since the body, therefore, is itself a
composite, reason shows that it cannot remain [perpetually the
same]. The senses likewise perceive that it is dissolved and
wastes away, and receives destructions of every sort; since each
of the things inherent in it tends to its own proper nature, and
one thing belonging to it corrupts another, and changes and
perishes into something else. This, too, is especially the case
when the soul, which causes the parts to be in friendly union
with each other, is not present with the corporeal mass. If each
body, likewise, is left by itself, it will not be one, since it is cap-
able of being dissolved into form and matter, from which it is
also necessary that simple bodies should have their composi-
tion. Moreover, as bodies they have magnitude, and conse-
quently may be cut and broken into the smallest parts, and

* From Il\wrlvov "Evveddes, Reprinted with verbal changes from Select Works
of Plotinus, translated by Thomas Taylor, London, 1817; ib., 1895.

ENNEADES 107

for this reason are subject to corruption. Hence, if body is a
part of us, we are not wholly immortal. But if it is an instru-
ment [of the soul] it is necessary that being given for a certain
time, it should be naturally a thing of this kind. That, however,
which is the most principal thing, and the man himself, will be
that with reference to the body which form is with reference to
matter, since this according to form is as body to matter,
or according to that which uses, the body has the relation to it
of an instrument. But in either case the soul is the man himself.

II. What, therefore, is the nature of the soul? Ifindeeditisa
body, it is in every respect capable of ‘being analyzed. For
every bodyisacomposite. But ifit isnot a body, but of another
nature, that also must be considered, either after the same, or
after another manner. In the first place, [if the soul be corpo-
real], it must be considered into what this body which they call
soul ought to be analyzed. For since life is necessarily present
with soul, it is also necessary that this body which is supposed
to be soul, if it consists of two or more bodies, should have life
innate in both, or in each of them; or that one of these should
have life, but the other not, or that neither should be vital. If,
therefore, life is present with one of them only, this very thing
will be soul. Hence, what body will this be which has life from
itself? For fire, air, water and earth, are of themselves inani-
mate; and with whichever of these soul is present, the life
which it uses is adventitious. There are not, however, any
other bodies besides these. And those to whom it appears that
there are other bodies which are the elements of these, do not
assert that they are souls, or that they have life.

But if it should be said, that though no one of these bodies
possesses life, yet the conjunction of them produces life, one
would speak absurdly. And if each of them has life, one will be
sufficient. Or rather, it is impossible that a combination of
bodies should produce life, and things void of intellect generate
intellect. Moreover, neither will these, in whatever manner
they may say they are mixed, generate either intellect or soul.
Hence, it is necessary there should be that which arranges, and
which is the cause of the mixture; so that this will have the

108 PLOTINUS

order of soul. For that which is compounded cannot be that
which arranges and produces the mixture. But neither can
there bea simple body in the series of things, without the exist-
ence of soul in the universe; if reason [or a productive principle]
entering into matter, produces body. For reason cannot pro-
ceed from any thing else than from soul.

III. . . . Indeed, neither will there be any body, if there is
no psychical power. For body [perpetually] flows, and its na-
ture is in [continual] motion. The universe would rapidly perish
if all things were bodies; though some one of them should be
denominated ‘“‘soul.’”’ For it would suffer the same things as
other bodies, since there would be one matter in all of them.
Or rather, nothing would be generated, but all things would
remain mere matter, as there would not be any thing to invest
it with form. Perhaps, too, neither would matter have any sub-
sistence whatever. This universe also would be dissolved, if it
is committed to the connexion of body, and the order of soul is
given to body, as far as the name went, ascribing it to air and
dissoluble spirits, which have not of themselves any unity. For
how is it possible, since all bodies are divisible, that this uni-
verse if itis committed to any one of them, should not be borne
along in a foolish and casual manner? What order is there, or
reason or intellect, in a pneumatic substance, which is in want
of order from soul? But if soul, indeed, has a subsistence, all
these will be subservient to it in the composition of the world,
and in the existence of every animal, in that one power arising
from another contributes to [the perfection of] the whole. If
soul, however, is not present to the whole of things, these
will neither have a subsistence, nor any arrangement.

VI. But that if soul is body, there would be no sensation, nor
thought, nor undertaking, nor virtue, nor any thing beautiful [in
human conduct,] will be manifest from the following considera-
tions. Whatever is able to have a sensible perception of any
thing, ought itself to be one, and to apprehend every thing by
one and the same power. This will also be the case, if many
things enter through many organs of sense, or there are many
qualities about one thing, and likewise when there is a varie-

ENNEADES 109

gated appearance such as that of the face, through one thing.
For one thing does not perceive the nose, and another the eyes,
but the same thing perceives at once all the parts of the face.
And though one sensation proceeds through the eyes, but an-
other through the ears, yet it is necessary there should be some
one thing at which both arrive. Or how could the soul.say that
these are different, unless the perceptions of sense at once ter-
minated in the same thing? It is necessary, therefore, that this
should be as it were a centre, that the senses should on all sides
be extended to this, like lines from the circumference of a circle,
and that a thing of this kind which apprehends the perceptions
of sense should be truly one. .. .

VII. The same thing also may be seen from pain and the
sensation of pain; when a man is said to have a pain in or about
his finger. For then it is manifest that the sensation of pain is
produced in the principal or ruling part. A portion of the spirit
being pained, the ruling part hasa perception of the pain, and the
whole soul in consequence of this suffers the same pain. How,
therefore, does this happen? They will say by transmission,
the psychical spirit about the finger suffering in the first place,
but imparting the passion to that which is next to it, and after-
wards to something else, until the passion arrives at the ruling
part. Hence, it is necessary if that which is primarily pained
perceives, that there should be another sensation of that which
is second, provided sensation is produced by transmission. Like-
wise, it is necessary that there should be another sensation of
that which is the third in order; that there should be many and
infinite sensible perceptions of one and the same pain; and that
afterwards all these should be perceived by the ruling part, and
besides these, that it should have a perception of its own passion.
In reality, however, each of these does not perceive the pain
that is in the finger; but one sensation perceives that the part
of the palm of the hand which is next to the finger is pained,
and another more remote sensation perceives the pain which is
in a more remote part.

There will also be many pains, the ruling faculty not perceiv-

ing the passion which is in the finger, but that which is present

IIO PLOTINUS

with itself. And thisit will alone know, but will bid farewell to
the others, not perceiving that the finger is pained. It, therefore,
is not possible that sensible perception of a thing of this kind
should subsist according to transmission. Nor can any one part
of the body —which is an extended mass—be aware of another’s
suffering, since in every magnitude the parts are distinct. If this
be the case, it is necessary that the perceiving faculty should be
of such a nature, as to be every where identical withitself. But
this pertains to any thing else rather than to body.

VIII. Moreover, that it would be impossible to perceive
intellectually if the soul is body, may be demonstrated as fol-
lows. For if to perceive sensibly is, for the soul using the body
to apprehend sensible objects, intellectual perception will not
be an apprehension of the objects of such perception, through
body. For unless this is admitted, intellectual will be the same
with sensible perception. Hence, if to perceive intellectually is
to apprehend without body, by a much greater priority it is
necessary that the nature which thus perceives should not be
body. Farther still, if sense indeed is the perception of sensible
objects, intellection is the perception of intelligible objects. If,
however, they are not willing to admit this, yet there must be
in us thoughts of certain intelligible objects, and apprehensions
of things without magnitude. How, therefore, will intellect if it
is magnitude, understand that which is not magnitude, and
with its divisible nature, think that which is indivisible? Shall
we say it will understand it by a certain indivisible part of itself?
But if this be the case, that which understands will not be body.
For there is no need of the whole in order to come into contact
with the object of its thought; since contact of a single part is
sufficient.

If, therefore, they admit that the most abstract thoughts
are entirely liberated from body, it is necessary that the nature
which intellectually perceives the form separate from body of
each thing, should know either real being, or that which is be-
coming pure. But if they say that thoughts are of forms in-
herent in matter, yet they are then only apprehended when by
intellect they are separated from body. For the separation [7.e.

ENNEADES " III

abstraction] of a circle and triangle, of a line and a point, is not
effected in conjunction with flesh, or in short, with matter.
Hence it is necessary that the soul also, in a separation of this
kind, should separate itself from the body. And therefore it is
necessary that it should not be itself body. I think, likewise,
that the beautiful and the just are without magnitude, and
consequently the thought of these is unattended with magni-
tude. Hence, these approaching to us are apprehended by that
which is indivisible in the soul, and in the soul they reside in the
indivisible. How also, if the soul is body, can temperance and
justice be the virtues of it, which are its saviours, so far as they
- are received by it?

IX. There must, therefore, be another nature which pos-
sesses existence from itself, and such is every thing which is
truly being, and which is neither generated, nor destroyed. For
without the subsistence of this, all things would vanish into
non-entity, and this perishing, would not afterwards be gener-
ated; since this imparts safety to all other things, and also to
the universe which through soul is preserved and adorned. For
soul is the principle of motion, with which it supplies other
things, itself moving itself, and imparting life to the animated
body. But it possesses life from itself, which it will never lose,
because it is derived from itself. For all things do not use an
adventitious life, or there would be a progression of life to
infinity. But it is necessary there should be a certain nature
primarily vital, which is also necessarily indestructible and
immortal, as being the principle of life to other things. . . .

X. That the soul, however, is allied to a more divine and
eternal nature, is evident from its not being body as we have
demonstrated, and also because it has neither figure nor colour.
Moreover, this likewise may be shown from the following con-
siderations. It is acknowledged by all of us, that every divine
nature, and one which is truly being, enjoys an excellent and
wise life. This, therefore, being admitted, it is necessary to
consider in the next place, what is the nature of our soul. We
must assume the soul, however, not as receiving in the body
irrational desires and angers, and other passions, but as abolish-

112 PLOTINUS

ing all these, and as much as possible having no communication
with the body. For such a soul as this will clearly show that
evils are an addition to the soul, and are externally derived;
and that the most excellent things are inherent in it when it is
purified, viz. wisdom and every other virtue, which are its
proper possessions. .

If, therefore, the soul is such when it returns to itself, how is
it possible it should not belong to that nature which we say is
possessed by every thing eternal and divine? For wisdom and
true virtue being divine, cannot be inherent in any vile and
mortal thing; but that which is of this kind is necessarily divine,
as being full of divine goods, through an alliance and similitude
of essence to a divine nature. Hence, whoever of us resembles a
soul of this description, will in soul itself differ but little from
superior beings; in this alone being inferior to them, that he is
in body. On which account, also, if every man was such, or if
the multitude employed souls of this kind, no one would be so
incredulous as not to believe that our soul is entirely immortal.

XII. Farther still, if they say that every soul is corruptible,
it would be requisite that all things should have long since per-
ished. But if they assert that one soul is corruptible, and an-
other not, as for instance, that the soul of the universe is im-
mortal, but ours not, it is necessary that they should assign the
cause of this difference. For each is the cause of motion, and each
lives from itself. Each, likewise, comes into contact with the
same things by the same power, intellectually perceiving the
natures in the heavens, and also those that are beyond the heav-
ens, investigating everything which has an essential subsist-
ence, and ascending as far as to the first principle of things. To
which may be added, that it is evident the soul gave being to
itself prior to the body, from its ability of apprehending what
each thing is, by itself, from its own inherent spectacles, and
from reminiscence. And from its employing eternal sciences,
it is manifest that it is itself perpetual.

Besides, since everything which can be dissolved receives
" composition, hence, so far as a thing is a composite, it is natur-
ally adapted to be dissolved. But soul being one simple energy,

ENNEADES a3

and a nature characterized by life, cannot be corrupted as a
composite. Will it, therefore, through being divided and dis-
tributed into minute parts, perish? Soul, however, is not, as
we have demonstrated, a certain bulk or quantity. May it not,
therefore, through being changed in quality, be corrupted?
Change in quality however which corrupts takes away form,
but leaves the subject matter. But this is the nature of a com-
posite. Hence, if it is not possible for the soul to be corrupted
according to any of these modes, it is necessarily incorruptible.

Vasgi TAR SN TECLCECT
(v. 1.)

III. Hence, as the soul is so honourable and divine a thing,
now confiding in a cause of this kind, ascend with it to divinity.
For you will not be very distant from him; nor are the intermed-
iate natures many. In this, therefore, which is divine, receive

“that part which is more divine, viz. the vicinity of the soul to
that which is supernal, to which the soul is posterior, and from
which it proceeds. For though it is so great a thing as we have
demonstrated it to be, yet it is a certain image of intellect. And,
just as external discourse is an image of the discursive energy
within the soul, after the same manner, soul, and the whole of
its energy, are the thought of intellect, and a life which it emits
in order to the hypostasis of another thing. It is just asin fire, -
where the inherent heat of it is one thing, and the heat which it
imparts another. It is necessary, however, to assume there, not
a life flowing forth, but partly abiding in intellect, and partly
giving subsistence to another life. Hence, since soul is derived
from intellect, it is intellectual, and the intellect of soul is con-
versant with discursive energies.

Again, the perfection of soul is from intellect, as from a father
that nourishes it, who generated soul, as with reference to him-
self, not perfect. This hypostasis, therefore, is from intellect,
and is also reason in energy when it perceives intellect. For
when it looks to intellect, it possesses internally, and appro-
priately, the things which it understands, and the energies which

Te oY PLOTINUS

it performs. And it is necessary to call those energies alone the
energies of the soul, which are intellectual and dwell with it.
But its subordinate energies have an external source, and are
the passions of a soul of this kind.

Intellect, therefore, causes the soul to be more divine, both
because it is the father of it, and because it is present with it.
For there is nothing between them, except the difference of one
with reference to the other; soul being successive to, and the
recipient of intellect, but intellect subsisting as form. The mat-
ter also of intellect is beautiful, since it has the form of intellect,
and is simple. The great excellence, however, of intellect, is
manifest from this, that though soul is such as we have de-
scribed it to be, yet it is surpassed by intellect.

LX
(v. x1.)

IV. Why, therefore, is it necessary to ascend to soul, and yet
not admit that it is the first of things? Is it not because in the
first place, indeed, intellect is different from, and more excellent
than soul? But that which is more excellent is prior by nature.
For soul when perfect, does not, as some fancy it does, generate
intellect. For whence will that which is in capacity become in
energy, unless there is a cause which leads into energy? Since
if it becomes in energy casually, it is possible that it may not
proceed into energy. Hence, it is necessary that first natures
should be established in energy, and that they should be want-
ing nothing and perfect. But imperfect natures are posterior to
them. The progeny also of imperfect, are perfected by first
natures, who after the manner of fathers give perfection to
what posterior natures generated imperfect from the beginning.
That, likewise, which is generated, has at first the relation of
matter to the maker of it, but is afterwards rendered perfect by
the participation of form. But ifit is necessary that soul should
be connected with passion, and if it is likewise necessary that
there should be something impassive, or all things would perish
in time; it is necessary that there should be something prior to

ENNEADES IIs

soul. And, if soul is in the world, but it is necessary there should
be something beyond the world, on this account also it is neces-
sary that there should be something prior to soul. For if that
which is in the world, is in body and matter, nothing would re-
main the same [if that which is mundane only existed]. So that
man, and all productive principles, would not be perpetual, nor
always the same. Hence, that it ismecessary intellect should be
prior to soul, may beseenfrom these and many other arguments.

V. It is necessary, however, to consider intellect truly so
called neither as intellect in capacity, nor as proceeding from the
privation to the possession of intellect. For if we do not, we
must again investigate another intellect prior to this. But we
must assume intellect in energy, and eternally. If such an intel-
lect, however, has not adventitious thought, whatever it intel-
lectually perceives, it perceives from itself. And whatever it
possesses, it possesses from itself. But if it perceives intel-
lectually by and from itself, it is itself that which it perceives.
For if the essence of it were one thing, and the object of its per-
’ ception another, its very essence would not be an intelligible
object; and again, it would be intellect in capacity, but not
in energy. Neither of these, therefore, must be separated
from the other. With us, however, it is usual, from the things
with which we are conversant, to separate in our conceptions
intellect, and the objects of its perception... .

VI. Let, therefore, intellect be [real] beings, and possess all
things in itself, not as in place but as itself, and as being one
with them. But all things there subsist together, and neverthe-
less are separated from one another. For the soul also which
has many notions in itself simultaneously, possesses them with-
out any confusion. Each also, when it is requisite, performs
what pertains to it, without the co-operation of the rest. And
each conception energizes with a purity unmingled with the
other inward conceptions. Thus, therefore, and in a still greater
degree, intellect is at once all things; and yet, not together, be-
cause each real existence is a peculiar power. Every intellect,
however, includes all things, in the same manner as genus
comprehends species, and as a whole comprehends its parts.

QUINTUS SEPTIMIUS FLORENS
TERTULLIANUS

(160-220)
A TREATISE ON THE SOUL

Translated from the Latin* by
PETER HOLMES

CHAPTER IV. THE SOUL CREATED

AFTER settling the origin of the soul, its condition or state
comes up next. For when we acknowledge that the soul orig-
inates in the breath of God, it follows that we attribute a be-
ginning to it. This Plato, indeed, refuses to assign te it, for he
will have the soul to be unborn and unmade.! We, however,
from the very fact of its having had a beginning, as well as from
the nature thereof, teach that it had both birth and creation.
And when we ascribe both birth and creation to it, we have
made no mistake: for being born, indeed, is one thing, and being
made is another, — the former being the term which is best
suited to living beings. When distinctions, however, have
places and times of their own, they occasionally possess also
reciprocity of application among themselves. Thus, the being
made admits of being taken in the sense of being brought forth; ?
inasmuch as everything which receives being or existence, in
any way whatever, is in fact generated. For the maker may
really be called the parent of the thing that is made: in this
sense Plato also uses the phraseology. So far, therefore, as con-

* From De Anima (about 210). Reprinted from the ANTE-NICENE CuHRIS-
TIAN Liprary, vol. xv, The Writings of Tertullian, translated by Peter Holmes,
Edinburgh, 1870, vol. 11.

1 See his Phedrus, c. xxiv. ,

2 Capit itaque et facturam provenisse poni.

A TREATISE ON THE SOUL ¥17

cerns our belief in the souls being made or born, the opinion of
the philosopher is overthrown by the authority of prophecy !
even.

CHAPTER V. THE SOUL’S CORPOREAL NATURE

SUPPOSE one summons a Eubulus to his assistance, and a
Critolaus, and a Zenocrates, and on this occasion Plato’s friend
Aristotle. They may very possibly hold themselves ready for
stripping the soul of its corporeity, unless they happen to see
other philosophers opposed to them in their purpose — and
this, too, in greater numbers — asserting for the soul a corpo-
real nature. Now I am not referring merely to those who mould
the soul out of manifest bodily substances, as Hipparchus and
Heraclitus [do] out of fire; as Hippon and Thales [do] out of
water; as Empedocles and Critias [do] out of blood; as Epicurus
[does] out of atoms, since even atoms by their coherence form
corporeal masses; as Critolaus and his Peripatetics [do] out of a
certain indescribable quintessence, if that may be called a body
which rather includes and embraces bodily substances; — but I
call on the Stoics also to help me, who, while declaring almost
in our own terms that the soul is a spiritual essence (inasmuch
as breath and spirit are in their nature very near akin to each
other), will yet have no difficulty-in persuading [us] that the
soul is a corporeal substance. Indeed, Zeno, defining the soul
to be a spirit generated with [the body], constructs his argu-
ment in this way: That substance which by its departure
causes the living being to die is a corporeal one. Now it is by
the departure of the spirit, which is generated with [the body],
that the living being dies; therefore the spirit which is gener-
ated with [the body] is a corporeal substance. But this spirit
which is generated with [the body] is the soul: it follows, then,
that the soul is a corporeal substance. Cleanthes, too, will have
it that family likeness passes from parents to their children not
merely in bodily features, but in characteristics of the soul; as __

1 Or, “inspiration.”
2 Ex quinta nescio qua substantia. Comp. Cicero’s Tuscul. i. 10.

118 TERTULLIANUS

if it were out of a mirror of [a man’s] manners, and faculties,
and affections, that bodily likeness and unlikeness are caught
and reflected by the soul also. It is therefore as being corporeal
that it is susceptible of likeness and unlikeness. Again, there is
nothing in common between things corporeal and things in-
corporeal as to their susceptibility. But the soul certainly sym-
pathizes with the body, and shares in its pain, whenever it is
injured by bruises, and wounds, and sores: the body, too,
suffers with the soul, and is united with it (whenever it is
afflicted with anxiety, distress, or love) in the loss of vigour
which its companion sustains, whose shame and fear it testifies
by its own blushes and paleness. The soul, therefore, is [proved
to be] corporeal from this intercommunion of susceptibility.
Chrysippus also joins hands in fellowship with Cleanthes, when
he lays it down that it is not at all possible for things which are
endued with body to be separated from things which have not
body; because they have no such relation as mutual contact or
coherence. Accordingly Lucretius says:}

“Tangere enim et tangi nisi corpus nulla potest res.”
“ For nothing but body is capable of touching or of being touched.” |

[Such severance, however, is quite natural between the soul
and the body]; for when the body is deserted by the soul, it is
overcome by death. The soul, therefore, is endued with a body;
for if it were not corporeal, it could not desert the body.

CHAPTER! Xi. THE SOUL'S “SIMPLICITY

It is essential to a firm faith, to declare with Plato? that the
soul is simple; in other words, uniform and uncompounded;
simply, that is to say, in respect of its substance. Never mind
men’s artificial views and theories, and away with the fabri- _
cations of heresy! Some maintain that there is within the soul a
natural substance — the spirit — which is different from it: as
if to have life — the function of the soul — were one thing; and

1 De Nat. Rer. i. 305."
2 See his Phedo, p. 80; Timaus, § 12, p. 35 (Bekker, pp. 264, 265).

A TREATISE ON THE SOUL 119

to emit breath — the alleged function of the spirit — were
another thing. Now it is not in all animals that these two func-
tions are found; for there are many which only live, but do not
breathe, in that they do not possess the organs of respiration —
lungs and windpipes. But of what use is it, in an examination
of the soul of man, to borrow proofs from a gnat or an ant,
when the great Creator in His divine arrangement has allotted
to every animal organs of vitality suited to its own disposition
and nature, so that we ought not to catch at any conjectures
from comparisons of this sort? Man, indeed, although organ-
ically furnished with lungs and windpipes, will not on that ac-
count be proved to breathe by one process, and to live by an-
other; + nor can the ant, although defective in these organs, be
on that account said to be without respiration, as if it lived and
that was all... .

You think it possible for a thing to live without breath; then
why not suppose that a thing might breathe without lungs?
Pray, tell me, what is it to breathe? I suppose it means to
emit breath from yourself. What is it not to live? I suppose it
means not to emit breath from yourself. This is the answer
which I should have to make, if ‘‘to breathe”’ is not the same
thing as ‘‘to live.” It must, however, be characteristic of a
dead man not to respire: to respire, therefore, is the characteris-
tic of a living man. But to respire is likewise the characteristic
of a breathing man: therefore also to breathe is the character-
istic of a living man. Now, if both one and the other could pos-
sibly have been accomplished without the soul, to breathe
might not be a function of the soul, but merely to live. But
indeed to live is to breathe, and to breathe is to live. Therefore
this entire process, both of breathing and living, belongs to that
to which living belongs — that is, to the soul. Well, then, since
you separate the spirit (or breath) and the soul, separate their
operations also. Let both of them accomplish some act apart
from one another — the soul apart, the spirit apart. Let the
soul live without the spirit; let the spirit breathe without the

' 2 Aliunde spirabit, aliunde vivet. “In the nature of man, life and breath are
inseparable” (Bp. Kaye).

120 TERTULLIANUS

soul. Let one of them quit men’s bodies, let the other remain;
let death and life meet and agree.

If indeed the soul and the spirit are two, they may be divided;
and thus, by the separation of the one which departs from the
one which remains, there would accrue the union and meeting
together of lifeand of death. But such a union never will accrue:
therefore they are not two, and they cannot be divided; but
divided they might have been, if they had been [two]. Still
two things may surely coalesce in growth. But the two in
question never will coalesce, since to live is one thing, and to
breathe is another. Substances are distinguished by their
operations. How much firmer ground have you for believing
that the soul and the spirit are but one, since you assign to
them no difference; so that the soul is itself the spirit, respira-
tion being the function of that of which life also is! But what
if you insist on supposing that the day is one thing, and the
light, which is incidental to the day, is another thing, whereas
day is only the light itself? There must, of course, be also
different kinds of light, as [appears] from the ministry of fires.
So likewise will there be different sorts of spirits, according as
they emanate from God or from the devil. Whenever, indeed,
the question is about soul and spirit, the soul will be [under-
stood to be] itself the spirit, just as the day is the light itself.
For a thing is itself identical with that by means of which itself
exists.

CHAPTER XII. THE MIND AND SOUL

In like manner the mind also, or animus, which the Greeks
designate NOY, is taken by us in no other sense than as
indicating that faculty or apparatus which is inherent and
implanted in the soul, and naturally proper to it, whereby it
acts, whereby it acquires knowledge, and by the possession of
which it is capable of a spontaneity of motion within itself,
and of thus appearing to be impelled by the mind, as if it were
another substance, as is maintained by those who determine
the soul to be the moving principle of the universe 1 — the god

1 Comp. The Apology, c. xlviii.; August. De Civ. Dei, xiii. 17.

A TREATISE ON THE SOUL 121

of Socrates, Valentinus’ “only-begotten” of his father! Bythus,
and his mother Sige. How confused is the opinion of Anaxa-
goras! For, having imagined the mind to be the initiating
principle of all things, and suspending on its axis the balance
of the universe; affirming, moreover, that the mind is a simple
principle, unmixed, and incapable of admixture, he mainly on
this very consideration separates it from all amalgamation with
the soul; and yet in another passage he actually incorporates
it with the soul. This [inconsistency] Aristotle has also ob-
served; but whether he meant his criticism to be constructive,
and to fill up a system of his own, rather than destructive of the
principles of others, I am hardly able to decide. As for himself,
indeed, although he postpones his definition of the mind, yet he
begins by mentioning, as one of the two natural constituents of
the mind, that divine principle which he conjectures to be im-
passible, or incapable of emotion, and thereby removes from
all association with the soul. For whereas it is evident that the
soul is susceptible of those emotions which it falls toit naturally
to suffer, it must needs suffer either by the mind or with the
mind. Now if the soul is by nature associated with the mind,
it is impossible to draw the conclusion that the mind is im-
passible; or again, if the soul suffers not either by the mind or
with the mind, it cannot possibly have a natural association
with the mind, with which it suffers nothing, and which suffers
nothing itself. Moreover, if the soul suffers nothing by the
mind and with the mind, it will experience no sensation, nor
will it acquire any knowledge, nor will it undergo any emotion
through the agency of the mind, as they maintain it will. For
Aristotle makes even the senses passions, or states of emotion.
And rightly too. For to exercise the senses is to suffer emotion,
because to suffer is to feel. In like manner, to acquire know-
ledge is to exercise the senses, and to undergo emotion is to
exercise the senses; and the whole of this is a state of suffering.
But we see that the soul experiences nothing of these things, in
such a manner as that the mind also is not affected by the emo-
tion, by which, indeed, and with which, all is effected. It fol-
1 Comp. Adv. Valentin. vii.

122 TERTULLIANUS

lows, therefore, that the mind is capable of admixture, in oppo-
sition to Anaxagoras; and passible or susceptible of emotion,
contrary to the opinion of Aristotle.

Besides, if a separate condition between the soul and mind is
to be admitted, so that they be two things in substance, then
of one of them, emotion and sensation, and every sort of taste,
and all action and motion, will be the characteristics; whilst of
the other the natural condition will be calm, and repose, and
stupor. There is therefore no alternative: either the mind must
be useless and void, or the soul. But if these affections may cer-
tainly be all of them ascribed to both, then in that case the two
will be one and the same, and Democritus will carry his point
when he suppresses all distinction between the two. The ques-
tion will arise how two can be one — whether by the confusion
of two substances, or by the disposition of one? We, however,
affirm that the mind coalesces with the soul, — not indeed as
being distinct from it in substance, but as being its natural
function and agent.

CHAPTER XVI. THE SOUL’S RATIONAL AND
IRRATIONAL PARTS

THAT position of Plato’s is also quite in keeping with the
faith, in which he divides the soul into two parts — the rational
and the irrational. To this definition we take no exception,
except that we would not ascribe this twofold distinction to the
nature [of the soul]. It is the rational element which we must
believe to be its natural condition, impressed upon it from its
very first creation by its Author, who is Himself essentially
rational. For how should that be other than rational, which
God produced on His own prompting; nay more, which He
expressly sent forth by His own afflatus or breath? The irra-
tional element, however, we must understand to have accrued
later, as having proceeded from the instigation of the serpent —
the very achievement of [the first] transgression — which
thenceforward became inherent in the soul, and grew with its
growth, assuming the manner by this time of a natural develop-

A TREATISE ON THE SOUL 123

ment, happening as it did immediately at the beginning of na-
ture. But, inasmuch as the same Plato speaks of the rational
element only as existing in the soul of God Himself, if we were
to ascribe the irrational element likewise to the nature which
our soul has received from God, then the irrational element will
be equally derived from God, as being a natural production,
because God is the author of nature. Now from the devil pro-
ceeds the incentive to sin. All sin, however, is irrational:
therefore the irrational proceeds from the devil, from whom sin
proceeds; and it is extraneous to God, to whom also the irra-
tional is an alien principle. The diversity, then, between these
two elements arises from the difference of their authors. When,
therefore, Plato reserves the rational element [of the soul] to
God alone, and subdivides it into two departments — the
trascible, which they call @vpuxdv, and the concupiscible, which
they designate by the term ém@upnrtixcy (in such a way as to
make the first common to us and lions, and the second shared
between ourselves and flies, whilst the rational element is con-
fined to us and God). ...

CHAPTER XXII. RECAPITULATION

HERMOGENES has already heard from us what are the other
natural faculties of the soul, as well as their vindication and
proof; whence it may be seen that the soul is rather the offspring
of God than of matter. The names of these faculties shall here
be simply repeated, that they may not seem to be forgotten
and passed out of sight. We have assigned, then, to the soul
both that freedom of the will which we just now mentioned,
and its dominion over the works of nature, and its occasional
gift of divination, independently of that endowment of pro-
phecy which accrues to it expressly from the grace of God. We
shall therefore now quit this subject of the soul’s disposition,
in order to set out fully in order its various qualities. The soul,
then, we define to be sprung from the breath of God, immortal,
possessing body, having form, simple in its substance, intelli-
gent in its own nature, developing its powers in various ways,

124 TERTULLIANUS

free in its determinations, subject to the changes of accident,
in its faculties mutable, rational, supreme, endued with an in-
stinct of presentiment, evolved out of one [archetypal soul].
It remains for us now to consider how it is developed out of this
one original source; in other words, whence, and when, and how
it is produced.

GREGORY OF NYSSA
(331-394)

THE ENDOWMENT OF MAN

Translated from the Greek* by
BENJAMIN RAND

CHAPTER XII. THE LOCATION OF THE INTELLECT

Dismiss therefore every idle fancy and foolish conjecture of
those who confine the intellectual activity to particular loca-
tions in the body. Some of them think the heart is the seat of
the guiding principle of the soul; others of them say the mind
dwells in the brain. And these views they seek to maintain
upon certain superficial grounds of probability. Those who
give precedence to the heart regard its location as a proof of
their affirmation, inasmuch as it occupies to all appearance the
central place of the entire body. For this reason any exercise
of the will can easily be transmitted from the centre throughout
the whole body, and can thus proceed into action. As addi-
tional evidence they cite the emotions of pain and of anger in
men, since these passions appear in a manner to bring every
partintosympathy. The others, who attribute to the brain the
faculty of thought, say that nature has constructed the brain
as a citadel for the entire body, and the mind reigns therein like
a king, with the organs of sense like messengers and armour-
bearers standing guard about it. They assert as a convincing
proof of their contention that with those who have suffered any
lesion of the membrane of the brain an unbalancing and de-
rangement of the faculty of thought commonly occurs, and

* From Gregory of Nyssa’s Iept karackevijs dvOpdov in his Opera, Gr. et
Lat. Paris, 1615; 2 ed. 1638.

126 GREGORY OF NYSSA

that those whose brains are clogged by drunkenness lose all
consciousness of what is fitting.

Both parties who accept these views supplement their pre-
sumptions concerning the ruling faculty of the soul by reasons
more closely derived from nature. One party says that the
activity of the intellect has a kinship with the igneous, be-
cause both fire and the intellect are in constant motion. Since
now they allow that heat has its source in the organ of the
heart, they affirm that the activity of the mind is blended with
the mobility of the heat, and as a consequence that the heart,
which contains the heat, is the repository of the intellectual
nature. The other party contend, on the contrary, that the
membrane of the brain (as the skin-like cover enveloping the
brain is called) is, as it were, the foundation and root of the
organs of sense. Their warrant for the truth of this affirmation
is because the activity of the perceptive faculty can never be
located otherwise, than in this part where both the ear is at-
tached and receives the sounds that fall upon it; where also the
sight, inseparably connected with the base of the eyes, trans-
mits the images that strike the pupils and makes an impression
of them within; where also the different kinds of scent are dis-
criminated through the sniffing of the organs of smell; and where
also the sensation of taste is determined by the testing power of
the membrane of the brain, which sends out certain fibrous
runners bearing sensation, and proceeding through the verte-
bre of the neck into the filterlike passage to the muscles there.

I concede that the intellectual processes of the soul are often
disturbed by overpowering diseases, that the natural activity
of the understanding is blunted by a bodily cause, and that the
heart is a source of bodily fire and becomes aroused to emo-
tional impulses. I admit further also that the membrane of the
brain serves as a foundation of the organs of sense, as those
affirm who make such investigations, since it envelops the brain
and is moistened there by the discharging vapour. I have
learned this from those who have madeanatomical studies, and
have no reason to doubt the truth of what is alleged. Never-

_ theless I derive therefrom no proof whatever, that the incorpo-

THE ENDOWMENT OF MAN 127

real nature is confined by certain local barriers. We know, how-
ever, that disturbances of the intellect do not originate from
the mere clogging of the brain by drunkenness, but rather, as
the physicians affirm, if the skin enveloping the sides be-
comes diseased, the intellect likewise assumes a disordered con-
dition. This disease they call phrenitis, since the name of that
skin is phrenes. The theory of joint-sensation occasioned by
a pain in the heart is also mistaken. When not the heart in-
deed but the orifice of the stomach is painfully irritated they
ignorantly attribute the suffering to the heart. Those who
have made a careful study of diseases explain this as due to
the fact that in a painful condition of the whole body there
occurs a closing of the ducts, and as a result everything hin-
dered in evaporation is driven back into the depths of the
hollow parts of the body. In consequence, therefore, of the
compression of the organs of respiration occasioned by the
environment, a more powerful respiration takes place through
the nature (i.e. of the body), as it seeks to remove the pressure
for the purpose of the expansion of the contracted parts. This
distress in breathing we regard as a symptom of pain, and call
it sighing and groaning. But the pressure also that we imagine
is felt in the region of the heart, is occasioned by unpleasant
sensations not of the heart, but of the orifice of the stomach,
and is due to the same cause, usually the contraction of the
ducts, since indeed the gall-bladder as a result of the com-
pression sends forth its sharp and smarting bile into the
orifice of the stomach. An evidence of this is the yellow ap-
pearance of persons suffering from such disease as jaundice, due
to the powerful contraction of the gall, which causes its juice to
flow into the veins.

But the opposite emotion also, that of joy or laughter, affords
our position still stronger support. If one is gladdened by a
pleasant communication the ducts of the body will also be
enlarged owing to the pleasure. Now in the case of pain the
fine and invisible evaporations of the ducts are checked, and
as the viscera within is bound in tighter position, the moist va-
pour is forced to the head, and to the membrane of the brain.

128 GREGORY OF NYSSA

This vapour being accumulated in the hollows of the brain is
then pressed out through the ducts lying beneath to the eyes,
where the contraction of the eyelashes segregates the moisture
in the form of drops called tears. Likewise, on the other hand,
it must be observed that if the ducts are enlarged beyond their
accustomed size in consequence of the opposite affections, a
quantity of air is drawn through them toward the depths, and
is there again naturally expelled through the mouth, since the
entire viscera, and especially it is said the liver, forcefully ejects
this air by a convulsive and violent movement. Nature there-
fore provides for the passage of this air through an enlargement
of the aperture of the mouth by means of the pushing apart of
the cheeks enclosing the air. This condition is termed laughter.
Thus neither on account of the alleged reason can the intel-
lectual faculty be attributed preferably to the liver; nor on
account of the agitation of the blood of the heart in agreeable
emotion can the location of the faculty of thought be sup-
posed in the heart. These phenomena must therefore be re-
ferred to some special organization of the body, and it must be
believed that the mind through some inexplicable plan of
blending is distributed in all parts of the body, relatively to their
importance.

If on the other hand one should oppose to us, that Holy
Writ (Psalm vim, 6) attributes to the heart most important
psychical activities, we cannot consent to such affirmation
without a closer examination. For he who makes mention of
the heart includes therewith the reins, saying God ‘‘who
trieth the heart and reins,” so that one must apply the seat
of thought to both, or to neither of the two. But though one
proves to me that the powers of the intellect are blunted in
certain conditions of the body, or are even forced completely
into inaction, I do not consider this fact sufficient evidence, that
the power of thought is limited to any one locality in such wise
that it would be driven from its accustomed place of sojourn
owing to inflammation befalling the parts. For it is a truth ap-
plicable to all bodily things, that if a vessel is already occupied
by anything which fills it, nothing else can find therein a place.

THE ENDOWMENT OF MAN 129

For the intellectual nature neither takes possession of the empty
parts of the body, nor permits itself to be expelled by any
superabundant flesh; but the entire body is similar in its organi-
sation to a wind instrument, which a musician oftentimes
knows how to play, but cannot show his knowledge because the
uselessness of the instrument prevents the display of his art.
Either it is unfit owing to age, or cracked from a fall, or
unusable on account of rust or mould. As a result it is mute and
ineffective, even if played upon by the most expert master of
the pipes. Even so the mind pervades the entire organism,
and acting in harmony with the powers of thought, as it
naturally can, operates upon each one of the individual parts. .
In the case of those that are in their natural condition it pro-
duces the customary effect, but in bodies which are too weak
to receive the operation of its art, it remains inactive and
inefficacious. For it is the peculiar quality of the mind that it
maintains friendly relationship with that which is in its natural
conditions, but is alienated from whatever has receded from
nature.

At this stage a principle suggests itself tome, which is based
even more upon the natural inner consideration of things, and
from which we can derive still higher precepts. For the divine
nature is itself the most beautiful of all things that is pre-
eminently good; and the essence towards which anything
which possesses the desire for the beautiful is drawn. We, there-
fore, affirm that the mind, precisely because it is created after
the image of the most beautiful, can itself abide in the beautiful
so long as it possesses the amount of similarity with its proto-
type that it receives; and that on the contrary if it recedes in
any measure from this resemblance, it is deprived of that
beauty in which it was resident. But just as we said the mind
possesses in itself beauty from similarity with its prototype,
and like a mirror profits by the image of the form appearing in
it; so in a similar manner we reason that nature also stands
subject to the guidance and ruling of reason, and profits by its
beauty and perfection. It is, as it were, a mirror of a mirror, and
the material of our personality in which our nature is observed,

130 GREGORY OF NYSSA

is governed, and held together by reason. So long as the one
cleaves to the other the community also of true beauty and
perfection pervades in right relation all the parts, and transfers
the lustre of divine grandeur to that connected with it. On the
other hand, if a sundering of this incorporation with the good
occurs, or if the higher appears in a subordinate relation to the
lower, then also the unloveliness of the material abundance by
nature reveals itself, (for matter is in itself something unformed
and crude). Thus owing to this formlessness, that beauty of
nature which adorns it through reason is also destroyed.
Hence the unloveliness of matter passes over through nature
to the mind itself, in such a manner that the image of God is
seen no longer in the impression on the features. For the mind
now receives the picture of the (divine) perfections as upon
the back of the mirror, and although it reflects the rays of the
splendour reflected from the good, it also rubs off the form-
lessness of matter upon itself. Thus evil originates, the ex-
istence of which commences with the deprivation of the good.
But the beautiful is everything that stands in harmonious rela-
tions with the original. good; but everything that stands out-
side of this relation, and of similarity with it, has no part in the
beautiful. If now according to the reasoning we have
observed there is only one original good, and if the mind in
virtue of its creation in the image of the beautiful has itself
beauty, and if the nature comprised by the mind is as it were
an image of an image, then it is thereby proved that our
material principle has persistence and continued support just
as long as it is guided and kept in order by nature, but that it is
committed to dissolution and decay if it forsakes that which
gives it support and persistence, and is torn from its incorpora-
tion with the beautiful. But this does take place precisely when
there has been a reversion from nature towards the opposite.
For there is every necessity that matter robbed of its own form
must likewise suffer an alteration corresponding to this shape-
lessness and unloveliness.
This is nevertheless an incidental explanation which has
developed from our discussion upon.the principal topic at

THE ENDOWMENT OF MAN 131

issue. The chief question was, whether the intellect has its
location in one special part of us, or whether it pervades all
parts alike. For the reasoning of those who circumscribe the
mind with local parts, and cite as a proof of their assumption
the fact that if the membrane of the brain is in an unnatural
condition thought is impaired, has disclosed that the power of
the soul is in every part of the human organism that is in a
condition to receive its activity, and similarly becomes inactive
so soon as any part loses its natural condition. For that reason
there was necessarily involved in the argument, the proposal by
which we learn that in the human organism the mind is regu-
lated by God, and through that in turn the material life is
guided so long as it remains in the service of nature, but that
if it turns aside from nature it also loses the power of activity,
derived from the mind. Thus we return again to our point of
departure, to wit, that the mind exercises power in such parts
of the body as have not lost their natural constitution as a
result of disease, and remains effective if they continue in con-
formity to nature, but on the contrary is powerless in those
parts which are incapable of maintaining its activity.

SAINT AUGUSTINE
(354-430)

ON THE TRINITY

Translated from the Latin* by
ARTHUR WEST HADDAN

BOOK X. CHAPTER X. THE NATURE OF MIND

13. LET it not then add anything to that which it knows
itself to be, when it is bidden to know itself. For it knows, at
any rate, that this is said to itself; namely, to itself, that is, and
that lives, and that understands. But a dead body also is, and
cattle live; but neither a dead body nor cattle understand.
Therefore it so knows that it so is, and that it so lives, as an
understanding is and lives. When, therefore, for example’s
sake, the mind thinks itself air, it thinks that air understands;
it knows,however, that itself understands, but it does not know
itself to be air, but only thinks so. Let it separate that which
it thinks itself; let it discern that which it knows; let this re-
main to it, about which not even have they doubted who have
thought the mind to be this corporeal thing or that. For cer-
tainly every mind does not consider itself to be air; but some
think themselves fire, others the brain, and some one kind of
corporeal thing, others another, as I have mentioned before;
yet all know that they themselves understand, and are, and
live; but they refer understanding to that which they under-
stand, but to be, and to live, to themselves. And no one doubts,
either that no one understands who does not live, or that no one
lives of whom it is not true that he is; and that therefore by
consequence that which understands both is and lives; not as a

* From De Trinitate, Strasburg, 1477. Reprinted from Augustine’s On the
_ Trinity, translated by Arthur West Haddan, Edinburgh, 1873.

ON THE TRINITY 133

dead body is which does not live, nor as a soul lives which does
not understand, but in some proper and more excellent manner.
Further, they know that they will, and they equally know that
no one can will who is not and who does not live; and they also
refer that will itself to something which they will with that will.
They know also that they remember; and they know at the
same time that nobody could remember, unless he both was and
lived; but we refer memory itself also to something, in that we
remember those things. Therefore the knowledge and science
of many things are contained in two of these three, memory
and understanding; but will must be present, that we may en-
joy or use them. For we enjoy things known, in which things
themselves the will finds delight for their own sake, and so re-
poses; but we use those things, which we refer to some other
thing which we are to enjoy. Neither is the life of man vicious
and culpable in any other way, than as wrongly using and
wrongly enjoying. But it is no place here to discuss this.

14. But since we treat of the nature of the mind, let us
remove from our consideration all knowledge which is received
from without, through the senses of the body; and attend more
carefully to the position which we have laid down, that all
minds know and are certain concerning themselves. For men
certainly have doubted whether the power of living, of remem-
bering, of understanding, of willing, of thinking, of knowing, of
judging, be of air, or of fire, or of the brain, or of the blood, or
of atoms, or besides the usual four elements of a fifth kind of
body, I know not what; or whether the combining or temper-
ing together of this our flesh itself has power to accomplish
these things. And one has attempted to establish this, and
another to establish that. Yet who ever doubts that he him-
self lives, and remembers, and understands, and wills, and
thinks, and knows, and judges? Seeing that even if he doubts,
he lives; if he doubts, he remembers why he doubts; if he
doubts, he understands that he doubts; if he doubts, he wishes
to be certain; if he doubts, he thinks; if he doubts, he knows
that he does not know; if he doubts, he judges that he ought not
to assent rashly. Whosoever therefore doubts about anything

134 SAINT AUGUSTINE

else, ought not to doubt of all these things; which if they were
not, he would not be able to doubt of anything.

15. They who think the mind to be either a body or the
combination or tempering of the body, will have all these things
to seem to be in a subject, so that the substance is air, or fire, or
some other corporeal thing, which they think to be the mind;
but that the understanding is in this corporeal thing as its
quality, so that this coporeal thing is the subject, but the
understanding is in the subject, viz. that the mind is the sub-
ject, which they rule to be a corporeal thing, but the under-
standing, or any other of those things which we have mentioned
as certain to us, is in that subject. They also hold nearly the
same opinion who deny the mind itself to be body, but think it
to be the combination or tempering together of the body; for
there is this difference, that the former say that the mind itself
is the substance, in which the understanding is, as in a subject;
but the latter say that the mind itself is in a subject, viz. in the
body, of which it is the combination or tempering together.
And hence, by consequence, what else can they think, except
that the understanding also is in the same body as in a subject?

16. And all these do not perceive that the mind knows itself,
even when it seeks for itself, as we have already shown. But
nothing is at all rightly said to be known while its substance is
not known. And therefore, when the mind knows itself, it
knows its own substance; and when it is certain about itself,
it is certain about its own substance. But it is certain about
itself, as those things which are said above prove convincingly;
although it is not at all certain whether itself is air, or fire, or
some body, or some function of body. Therefore it is not any
of these. And that whole which is bidden to know itself, belongs
to this, that it is certain that it is not any of those things of
which it is uncertain, and is certain that it is that only, which
only it is certain that it is. For it thinks in this way of fire,
or air, and whatever else of the body it thinks of. Neither
can it in any way be brought to pass that it should so think
that which itself is, as it thinks that which itself is not. Since
it thinks all these things through an imaginary phantasy,

ON THE TRINITY “135

whether fire, or air, or this or that body, or that part or com-
bination and tempering together of the body: nor assuredly is
it said to be all those things, but some one of them. But if
it were any one of them, it would think this one in a different
manner from the rest, viz. not through an imaginary phantasy,
as absent things are thought, which either themselves or some of
like kind have been touched by the bodily sense; but by some
inward, not feigned, but true presence (for nothing is more
present to it than itself); just as it thinks that itself lives, and
remembers, and understands, and wills. For it knows these
things in itself, and does not imagine them as though it had
touched them by the sense outside itself, as corporeal things are
touched. And if it attaches nothing to itself from the thought
of these things, so as to think itself to be something of the kind,
then whatsoever remains to it from itself, that alone is itself.

CHAPTER XI. MEMORY, UNDERSTANDING,
AND WILL

17. Putttnc aside, then, for a little while all other things, of
which the mind is certain concerning itself, let us especially
consider and discuss these three — memory, understanding,
will. For we may commonly discern in these three the charac-
ter of the abilities of the young also; since the more tenaciously
and easily a boy remembers, and the more acutely he under-
stands, and the more ardently he studies, the more praise-
worthy is he in point of ability. But when the question is about
any one’s learning, then we ask not how solidly and easily he
remembers, or how shrewdly he understands; but what it is
that he remembers, and what it is that he understands. And
because the mind is regarded as praiseworthy, not only as being
learned, but also as being good, one gives heed not only to
what he remembers and what he understands, but also to what
he wishes; not how ardently he wishes, but first what it is he
wishes, and then how greatly he wishes it. For the mind that
loves eagerly is then to be praised, when it loves that which

ought to be loved eagerly. Since, then, we speak of these three

136 SAINT AUGUSTINE

— ability, knowledge, use — the first of these is to be considered
under the three heads, of what a man can do in memory, and
understanding, and will. The second of them is to be consid-
ered in regard to that which any one has in his memory and in
his understanding, whither he has attained by a studious will.
But the third, viz. use, lies in the will, which handles those
things that are contained in the memory and understanding,
whether it refer them to anything further, or rest satisfied with
them as an end. For to use, is to take up something into the
power of the will; and to enjoy, is to use with joy, not any longer
of hope, but of the actual thing. Accordingly, every one who
enjoys, uses; for he takes up something into the power of the
will, wherein he also is satisfied as with an end. But not every
one who uses, enjoys, if he has sought after that, which he takes
up into the power of the will, not on account of the thing itself,
but on account of something else.

18. Since, then, these three, memory, understanding, will,
are not three lives, but one life; nor three minds, but one mind;
it follows certainly that neither are they three substances, but
one substance. Since memory, which is called life, and mind,
and substance, is so called in respect to itself; but it is called
memory, relatively to something. And I should say the same
also of understanding and of will, since they are called under-
standing and will relatively to something; but each in respect
to itself is life, and mind, and essence. And hence these three
are one, in that they are one life, one mind, one essence; and
whatever else they are severally called in respect to themselves,
they are called also together, not plurally, but in the singular
number. But they are three, in that wherein they are mutually
referred to each other; and if they were not equal, and this not
only each to each, but also each to all, they certainly could not
mutually contain each other; for not only is each contained by
each, but also all by each. For I remember that I have mem-
ory, and understanding, and will; and I understand that I
understand, and will, and remember; and I will that I will, and
remember, and understand; and I remember together my whole
memory, and understanding, and will. For that of my memory

ON THE TRINITY 137

which I do not remember, is not in my memory; and nothing is
so much in the memory as memory itself. Therefore I remem-
ber the whole memory. Also, whatever I understand I know
that I understand, and I know that I will whatever I will; but
whatever I know Iremember. Therefore I remember the whole
of my understanding, and the whole of my will. Likewise, when
I understand these three things, I understand them together as
whole. For there is none of things intelligible which I do not
understand, except what I do not know; but what I do not
know, I neither remember, nor will. Therefore, whatever of
things intelligible I do not understand, it follows also that I
neither remember nor will. And whatever of things intelligible
I remember and will, it follows that I understand. My will also
embraces my whole understanding and my whole memory,
whilst I use the whole that I understand and remember. And,
therefore, while all are mutually comprehended by each, and as
wholes, each as a whole is equal to each as a whole, and each as
a whole at the same time to all as wholes; and these three are
one, one life, one mind, one essence.

THOMAS AQUINAS
(1225-1274)

SUMMA THEOLOGICA

Translated from the Latin* by
BENJAMIN RAND

QUESTION LXXVI. RATIONALITY THE ESSENTIAL
FORM IN MAN

Article 3. Are there besides the Rational Soul in Man, other Souls
different in Essence ?

(a) Ir would appear that beside the rational soul in man
other souls essentially different exist, to wit, the sensitive and
nutritive.

I. For what is perishable does not belong to the same sub-
stance as what is imperishable. But the rational soul is imper-
ishable, whereas the other souls, that is, the nutritive and the
sensitive, are perishable. It is not possible, therefore, that there
is in man a single essence of a rational, sensitive, and nutritive
soul.

II. If it be said that the sensitive soul of man is imperishable
there is opposed to such a view, the declaration of Aristotle
(10 Metaph.), that what is perishable differs in kind from that
which is imperishable. But the sensitive soul in the horse,
lion, and other animals is perishable. If therefore it were
imperishable in man, then the sensitive soul in man and brute
would not be of the same kind. Nevertheless that is called
animal which has a sensitive soul. Animal would therefore not
be the common genus for man and the other animals. But this
is incongruous.

* Freely translated from Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologica, Basil, 1485;
in his Opera Omnia, Romae, 1889, vol. v.

SUMMA THEOLOGICA 139

III. Aristotle says “the embryo is first animal. and then
man” (2 de Gener, c. 3). But this would not be possible if the
sensitive soul had the same essence as the rational. For the
animal is thus designated because of its sensitive soul; and
man is so called because of his rational soul. Consequently there
is in man no single essence composed of a sensitive and a ra-
tional soul. '

IV. Aristotle says (8 Metaph.) ‘the genus of being is derived
from the matter, but the difference from the essential form.”
Now rationality which is the specific difference in man is
derived from the rational soul; but the animal is so called
because it has a body animated by a sensitive soul. The ra-
tional soul, therefore, is related to the body animated by the
sensitive soul, as form is to matter. The rational soul is not,
therefore, identical in essence with the sensitive soul in man,
but presupposes the latter as its substrate matter. .

But on the other hand it should be said: we do not admit two
souls in one and the same man, as Jacobus and the other Syri-
ans affirm, to wit,an animal soul which animates the body,
and is mixed with the blood, and a rational soul which ministers
to the reason; but thereis a single soul in man which animates
the body by its presence, and orders by its own principle of
reason” (Jib. de eccl. dogm. c. 15).

(6) I reply that Plato postulated (Timeus) in one body dif-
ferent souls, distinguished likewise by their organs, to which he
attributed diverse vital functions, declaring that there is a
nutritive faculty in the liver, an appetitive faculty in the heart,
and a rational faculty in the brain.

Aristotle refutes (2 de Anima, c. 2) this view so far as it con-
cerns those powers of the soul which in their activities employ
bodily organs. His reason is that in case of those animals which
though cut in two still live, the different operations of the soul
in any one part are still found, such as feeling and desire. But
this would not be the case if diverse principles of psychical
activities, differing essentially from one another, were ascribed
to the different parts of the body. But with regard to the
rational soul he appears to have left it an open question,

140 THOMAS AQUINAS

whether it is separated from the other powers of the soul only
by virtue of reason, or also in location.

The opinion of Plato would indeed be justified, if one sup-
posed the soul were united to the body not as form, but as
moving principle, as Plato assumed. For in that case no-
thing incongruous results, if the same mobile object be moved
by different moving forces, especially in its different sub-
ordinate parts.

But if we assume that the soul is united to the body as its
form, it is then wholly impossible that several souls, differing
essentially from one another, should have existence in a single
body. This can be clearly shown in three ways.

1. The animal would not have unity of being in which there
were several souls. Nothing has simple unity, save through
form alone, by which a thing has its being. For from the same
form that a thing derives entity, it derives unity; and therefore
what are designated by different forms are not singly one, as
for instance a white man. If therefore man were a living being
by virtue of some one form, that is the vegetative soul; animal
by virtue of another form, the sensitive soul; and were a think-
ing being by virtue of another form, the rational soul, he would
not then be singly one. Thus Aristotle also argues (8 Metaph.),
as against Plato, that if there were one idea of an animal, and
’ another of a biped, there would be no single entity of a biped
animal. Accordingly he asks (1 de Anima), in answer to those
who assume different souls in the same body, what then holds
together these diverse souls, that is, what makes a unity of
them. It is not possible to say that they are made indeed into
a unity through the body; for the soul contains the body and
makes it to be one, rather than the reverse.

2. This appears impossible by the mode of predication. For
the attributes which embody different forms in the same thing
are predicable of oneanother, either accidentally, orreciprocally.
If these forms have no relation to one another. as if one were to
say that what is white may also be sweet, then the attribute
does not depend on the substance itself, but arises from other
causes, since it is not in the essence of white to be sweet. Or, if

SUMMA THEOLOGICA I4I

the attributes are naturally related they will be predicated
per se, according to the second definition of per se, because the
subject then appears in the definition of the predicate. Thus I
can say, the surface must precede the colour, if the surface of the
body is coloured, for the existence of a surface must precede the
concept of colour. Man is therefore owing to certain forms said
to be ananimal, and to other forms a man. The affirmation ‘man
is an animal,’ therefore, must be either purely ‘accidental,’
or, one of the souls must precede the other. But the former
statement is manifestly false, because animal is predicated of
man fer se, and not per accidens; and the latter is untrue, be-
cause man is not contained in the definition of animal, but the
reverse. It therefore follows, that there can only be one and the
same form from which it results, both that man is animal, and
that he is also man. If it were otherwise man would not be
what is designated by animal, since the necessary attribute for
animal would be predicated only accidentally of man.

3. Again this appears impossible because of the fact, that one
activity of the soul inhibits another, if it be very intense. This
would by no means happen unless the principle of action in
man were in essence one. It follows, therefore, that there is only
one soul as to number in man, which must be deemed at the
same time nutritive, sensitive, and rational.

How this can happen may easily be understood by anyone
who pays heed to the differences of species and of forms. For
the forms and species of things differ from one another, in that
one is more or less perfect than another. Thus plants are more
perfect than inanimate objects; animals again rank above
plants; and man in turn rises above the beasts. And among the
individuals of the same class there are also varying degrees of
perfection. For this reason Aristotle compares (8 Metaph.) the
forms of species to numbers, which differ in type according as a
unit is added or subtracted. And he compares (2 de Anima) the
different souls to figures in which one contains another, and yet
exceeds it. In like manner the rational soul contains within its
powers, both what belongs to the sensitive soul of the brutes, and
likewise to the nutritive soul of the plant. Thesurface, therefore,

142 THOMAS AQUINAS

which has the figure of a pentagon, also is not by one figure in it
a square, and by another a pentagon; for in that case the square
would be superfluous, since it is contained in the pentagon.
Thus Socrates also is not by virtue of one soul a man, and by
virtue of another an animal; but he is both, through one and the
same soul.

(c) I. The sensitive soul is imperishable, not because of its
sensitive nature, but because it possesses rationality. If the soul
be thus capable only of being sensitive, it is perishable; but if it
has with the sensitive nature also rationality, it is imperishable.
For though the sensitive does not impart incorruptibility,
nevertheless it is impossible to dissociate incorruptibility from
the rational.

II. Forms do not belong to species and to genus, but the
composites. Man however is mortal, as are all other animals.
The difference therefore between the perishable and imperish-
able, which proceeds from the forms, does not cause man to
differ in genus from the other animals.

III. The embryo has at first only a sensitive soul. If this be
superseded, it receives a more perfect one, which is both sensi-.
tive and rational.+

IV. One should not apply different kinds of reasoning or
logical deduction, which are involved in methods of cognition,
to determine diversity in natural object. For in reasoning it is
possible to apprehend one and the same thing in different ways.
Hence, since the rational soul contains in its powers everything
that belongs to the sensitive soul, and also something more; the
reason too can distinguish from itself, what pertains to the
powers of the sensitive soul, and regard it as something in-
complete and material. Moreover, because it finds this incom-
pleteness to be something common to man and toother animals,
it formulates therefrom the nature of the genus. But that in
which the rational soul exceeds and surpasses the sensitive
soul, it regards as the forming and perfecting principle which
differentiates the being of man.

1 This is more fully developed by Thomas Aquinas in Question cxvm,
Art. 2 of the Summa Theologica.

‘SUMMA THEOLOGICA 143

QUESTION LXXVI. THE RELATION OF SOUL
AND BODY

Article VI. Is the Soul united to the Body without any further
Intermediation ?

(a) Ir would appear that the rational soul is united to the
body by the intermediation of certain special properties. For:

I. Every form exists in matter suited and adjusted to it. But
such preadjustment to the form is effected by certain accidents.
Hence some accidental properties must be thought present
in matter before the entrance of the soul as substantial form.

II. Different forms of one and the same species are adapted
to different parts of matter. But different parts presuppose the
apportioning of measurable quantities. Therefore one cannot
assume such apportioning of matter before the entrance of sub-
stantial forms, of which many unite in one species.

III. The spiritual effects the body through its operating
activity. But the activity of the soul is its intellectual power.
Therefore the soul is united to the body by means of its intel-
lectual power, which is so to speak an accidental property.

But on the other hand it should be said: Every such property
exists posterior to substance, and thus presupposes both time
and reason (7 Metaph.). Therefore the accidental form cannot
be thought as existing in the matter before the soul is there
as substantial form.

(6) I answer: if the soul were only the mover of the body,
nothing need be said against this view. On the contrary, it
would be necessary to assume that particular properties in-
termediate between soul and body; namely, upon the part of the
soul the ability to move the body, and upon the part of the
body, its moveability.

But since the rational soul is the substantial form of the
body, it is impossible that there should be any accidental inter-
mediation between the soul and body, or between any sub-
stantial form and its matter. Since matter is potentially dis-
posed in acertain order for all actualities, that which in point

144 THOMAS AQUINAS

of simplicity is first in actualities is first in matter. But the first
of all actualities is being. It is impossible, therefore, to conceive
a substance as either cold, or to have size, before it has actual
existence. But everything has actual existence in virtue of its
substantial form. Therefore, it is impossible that there should
be any preparatory accidental quality in the matter before the
substantial form; and consequently nothing in the body before
the soul.

(c) To the first position we must say, as is clear from the
previous discussion, that a form of more perfect powers com-
prises whatever inferior forms there are. Therefore one and the
same existing form perfects its matter in different grades of
perfection. It is one and the same essential form by which man
has being, possesses body, is living, is animal, and is man. It
is now apparent, that certain peculiar properties correspond to
every one of these different kinds of actuality. Hence as matter
is conceived as perfected in being before it can be apprehended
as corporeal, so the properties which accompany being are
conceived before their incorporation. So too adjustments of
matter are conceived before the form, not as if these were
present in actual being, but because they accompany its
activities.

II. The kinds of magnitude which are the necessary proper-
ties of materiality, correspond to those which belong in general to
matter. Matter, therefore, can be viewed as already corporeal,
and of various magnitudes, and yet be regarded as different in
its various parts; and therefore as capable of receiving a further
degree of perfection in its diverse forms. For though it is always
one and the same form in its essence, through which the differ-
ent degrees of perfection are attributed to matter, still reason
makes distinctions in these perfections.

III. The spiritual substance that is united to the body
merely as its motive force, is united to it by its potential and
actual powers. But the intellective soul is united to the body,
as form in its absolute essence. It however regulates the body
by its potential and actual powers.

SUMMA THEOLOGICA 145

QUESTION LXXXII. THE SUPERIORITY OF
REASON TO WILL

Article III. Is the Nature of Reason superior to that of Will ?

(a) This appears not to be the case. For:

I. The final cause or the good is the object of the will. But
the final cause is the first and highest of causes. The will, there-
fore, is the first and highest of the faculties.

II. Natural objects ascend from the imperfect to the perfect.
Thus also in the faculties of the soul, the order of progress is from
the senses to the reason, whichis superior. But the natural pro-
cess is from an act of mind to an act of will. The will is there-
fore superior to and more perfect than the intellect.

III. States of mind correspond to their potencies. But love
which is a state of mind achieved by the will stands as the
highest virtue. For it is written: “Though I know all mysteries
and have all faith but have not love I am nothing.” 1 Cor. 13,

2. The will is therefore a higher potency than the intellect.

On the other hand, Aristotle gives (10 Ethics, 7) the first
place among the faculties to reason.

1. Il answer, the rank of a faculty in relation to others can
be viewed: (1) in accordance to the nature possessed by each
absolutely; and (2) in accordance to a certain aspect only
relatively.

If the first view be considered, it is self-evident that the
reason is superior to the will. For the nature of a faculty is
judged according to its objects. Now the object of the reason
is more simple, absolute, and less conditioned, than that of
the will. For the object of the reason is the very idea of de-
sirable good. The will however is directed towards a desirable
good, the idea of which isin the reason. Now the more simple,
the less conditioned, and the more detached from particulars,
anything is, so much the higher does it stand in the rank and
the value of its being. The faculty of reason is, therefore, in
its nature more noble, and more sublime, than that of the will.

Relatively, however, and in comparison with something else,

146 THOMAS AQUINAS

it may chance at times that the will stands higher than the
intellect. This is true because the object of the will may belong
to a higher type of being than the object of the reason. Thus I
could say that hearing is superior to sight, because the object
from which the object proceeds is more noble than that which
has the color, although color in itself may stand higher and be
purer than sound. In a similar manner, the action of the intel-
lect consists in this, that the nature of the thing known is com-
prehended by the knower; but the action of the will is con-
summated in the will’s inclining to the object as it is in itself,
whatever its nature may be. For this reason, Aristotle says,
“good and evil which are the objects of-the will belong to
things; true and false which are objects of the intellect belong
to the mind”’ (6 Metaph.). When, therefore, the actual being in
which the good exists as object of reason, is superior to the soul
itself in which its nature is comprehended, then,in comparison
to such an object, the will is superior to the reason. But if the
desired object is lower than the soul, then the reason in com-
parison to such an object is superior to the will. It is, there-
fore, better to love God, than merely to know God; and, con-
versely, it is better only to know corporeal things, than to
love them. Nevertheless absolutely, reason is superior to will.

(c) II. Whatever is earlier in time or origin is the more
imperfect. For in one and the same thing, the potency pre-
cedes activity. At first there is the imperfect, later the per-
fected. But that which is before absolutely, and according to
the order of nature, is the more perfect. Thus the activity is
earlier than the potency. And in like manner, the reason
precedes the will, as the moving force precedes that which is
moved, and as activity precedes the affected. For in so far as
the good is conceived by the reason, it moves the will.

III. Through love we cleave to God, who is transcendently
raised above the soul. For that reason, the will is in this in-
stance superior to the reason.

THOMAS HOBBES
(1588-1679)

HUMAN NATURE*

CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION

1. THE true and perspicuous explication of the elements of
laws natural and politic (which is my present scope) dependeth
upon the knowledge of what is kuman nature, what is body politic,
and what it is we call a Jaw; concerning which points, as the writ-
ings of men from antiquity downwards have still increased, so
also have the doubts and controversies concerning the same: and
seeing that true knowledge begetteth not doubt nor controversy,
but knowledge, it is manifest from the present controversies,
that they, which have heretofore written thereof, have not well
understood their own subject.

2. Harm I can do none, though I err no less than they; for I
shall leave men but as they are, in doubt and dispute: but, in-
tending not to take any principle upon érust, but only to put
men in mind of what they know already, or may know by their
own experience, I hope to err the less; and when I do, it must
proceed from too hasty concluding, which I will endeavour as
much as I can to avoid.

3. On the other side, if reasoning aright win not consent, which
may very easily happen, from them that being confident of
their own knowledge weigh not what is said, the fault is not
mine, but theirs; for as it is my part to shew my reasons, so it is
theirs to bring attention.

4. Man’s nature is the sum of his natural faculties and powers,
as the faculties of nutrition, motion, generation, sense, reason,

* Humane Nature, or the fundamental elements of policie. London, 1651. Re-
printed here from Hobbes’ English Works, collected and edited by Sir William
Molesworth, London, 1839, vol. iv.

148 THOMAS HOBBES

é&c. These powers we do unanimously call natural, and are con-
tained in the definition of man, under these words, animal and
rational.

5. According to the two principal parts of man, I divide his
faculties into two sorts, faculties of the body, and faculties of the
mind.

6. Since the minute and distinct anatomy of the powers of
the body is nothing necessary to the present purpose, I will only
sum them up in these three heads, power nuiritive, power mo-
tive, and power generative.

7. Of the powers of the mind there be two sorts, cognitive,
imaginative, or conceptive, and motive; and first of cognitive.

For the understanding of what I mean by the power cogni-
tive, we must remember and acknowledge that there be in our
minds continually certain images or conceptions of the things
without us, insomuch that if a man could be alive, and all the
rest of the world annihilated, he should nevertheless retain the
image thereof, and all those things which he had before seen or
perceived in it; every one by his own experience knowing, that
the absence or destruction of things once imagined doth not cause
the absence or destruction of the imagination itself. This imagery
and representations of the qualities of the thing without, is that
we call our conception, imagination, ideas, notice or knowledge of
them; and the faculty or power by which we are capable of such
knowledge, is that I here call cognitive power, or conceptive, the
power of knowing or conceiving.

CHAPTER II. THE SENSE AND ITS MAIN
DECEPTION

1. Havine declared what I mean by the word conception,
and other words equivalent thereunto, I come to the concep-
tions themselves, to shew their differences, their causes, and
the manner of the production, so far as is necessary for this
place.

2. Originally all conceptions proceed from the action of the
thing itself, whereof it is the conception: now when the action is

HUMAN NATURE 149

present, the conception it produceth is also called sense; and the
thing by whose action the same is produced, is called the object
of the sense.

3. By our several organs we have several conceptions of sev-
eral qualities in the objects; for by sight we have a conception or
image composed of colour and figure, which is all the notice and
knowledge the object imparteth to us of its nature by the eye.
By hearing we have a conception called sound, which is all the
knowledge we have of the quality of the object from the ear.
And so the rest of the senses are also conceptions of several
qualities, or natures of their objects.

4. Because the zmage in vision consisting of colour and shape
is the knowledge we have of the qualities of the object of that
sense; it is no hard matter for a man to fall into this opinion,
that the same colour and shape are the very qualities themselves;
and for the same cause, that sound and noise are the qualities of
the bell, or of the air. And this opinion hath been so long re-
ceived, that the contrary must needs appear a great paradox;
and yet the introduction of species visible and intelligible (which
is necessary for the maintenance of that opinion) passing to and
fro from the object, is worse than any paradox, as being a plain
impossibility. I shall therefore endeavour to make plain these
points:

That the subject wherein colour and image are inherent, is
not the object or thing seen.

That there is nothing without us (really) which we call an
image or colour.

That the said image or colour is but an apparition unto us
of the motion, agitation, or alteration, which the object work-
eth in the drain, or spirits, or some internal substance of the
head.

That as in vision, so also in conceptions that arise from the
other senses, the subject of their inherence is not the object, but
the sentient.

5. Every man hath so much experience as to have seen the
sun and the other visible objects by reflection in the water and

glasses; and this alone is sufficient for this conclusion, that col-
&

150 THOMAS HOBBES

our and image may be there where the thing seen is not. But
because it may be said that notwithstanding the image in the
water be not in the object, but a thing merely phantastical, yet
there may be colour really in the thing itself: I will urge further
this experience, that divers times men see directly the same
object double, as two Candles for one, which may happen from
distemper, or otherwise without distemper if a man will, the
organs being either in their right temper, or equally distem-
pered; the colours and figures in two such images of the same
thing cannot be inherent therein, because the thing seen cannot
be in two places.

One of these images therefore is not inherent in the object:
but seeing the organs of the sight are then in equal temper
or distemper, the one of them is no more inherent than the
other; and consequently neither of them both are in the object;
which is the first proposition, mentioned in the precedent
number.

6. Secondly, that the image of any thing by reflection in a
glass or water or the like, is not any thing in or behind the glass,
or in or under the water, every man may grant to himself; which
is the second proposition.

7. For the third, we are to consider, first that upon every
great agitation or concussion of the brain (as it happeneth from a
stroke, especially if the stroke be upon the eye) whereby the
optic nerve suffereth any great violence, there appeareth before
the eyes a certain light, which light is nothing without, but an
apparition only, all that is real being the concussion or motion
of the parts of that nerve; from which experience we may con-
clude, that apparition of light is really nothing but motion within.
If therefore from lucid bodies there can be derived motion, so as
to affect the optic nerve in such manner as is proper thereunto,
there will follow an image of light somewhere in that line by
which the motion was last derived to the eye; that is to say, in
the object, if we look directly on it, and in the glass or water,
when we look upon it in the line of reflection, which in effect
is the third proposition; namely, that image and colour is but
an apparition to us of that motion, agitation, or alteration

HUMAN NATURE 151

which the object worketh in the brain or spirits, or some internal
substance in the head.

8. But that from all lucid, shining and illuminate bodies
there is a motion produced to the eye, and, through the eye, to
the optic nerve, and so into the brain, by which that apparition
of light or colour is affected, is not hard to prove. And first, it is
evident that the fire, the only lucid body here upon earth,
worketh by motion equally every way; insomuch as the motion
thereof stopped or inclosed, it is presently extinguished, and no
more fire. And further, that that motion, whereby the fire work-
eth, is dilation, and contraction of itself alternately, commonly
called scintillation or glowing, is manifest also by experience.
From such motion in the fire must needs arise a rejection or cast-
ing from itself of that part of the mediwm which is contiguous
to it, whereby that part also rejecteth the next, and so success-
ively one part beateth back another to the very eye; and in the
same manner the exterior part of the eye presseth the interior,
(the laws of refraction still observed). Now the interior coat of
the eye is nothing else but a piece of the optic nerve; and there-
fore the motion is still continued thereby into the brain, and by
resistance or reaction of the brain, is also a rebound into the optic
nerve again; which we not conceiving as motion or rebound from
within, do think it is without, and call it light; as hath been al-
ready shewed by the experience of a stroke. We have no reason
to doubt, that the fountain of light, the swn, worketh by any
other ways than the fire, at least in this matter. And thus all
vision hath its original from such motion as is here described:
for where there is no light, there is no sight; and therefore colour
also must be the same thing with light, as being the effect of the
lucid bodies: their difference being only this, that when the light
cometh directly from the fountain to the eye, or imdirectly by
reflection from clean and polite bodies, and such as have not any
particular motion internal to alter it; we call it 7ght; but when it
cometh to the eye by reflection from uneven, rough, and coarse
bodies, or such as are affected with internal motion of their own
that may alter it, then we call it colour; colour and light differ-
ing only in this, that the one is pure, and the other perturbed

152 THOMAS HOBBES

light. By that which hath been said, not only the truth of the
third proposition, but also the whole manner of producing light
and colour, is apparent.

g. As colour is not inherent in the object, but an effect thereof
upon us, caused by such motion in the object, as hath been
described: so neither is sound in the thing we hear, but in our-
selves. One manifest sign thereof is, that as a man may See, so
also he may hear double or treble, by multiplication of echoes,
which echoes are sounds as well as the original; and not being in
one and the same place, cannot be inherent in the body that
maketh them. Nothing can make any thing which is not in it-
self: the clapper hath no sound in it, but motion, and maketh
motion in the internal parts of the bell; so the dell hath motion,
and not sound, that imparteth motion to the air; and the air
hath motion, but not sound; the air imparteth motion by the
ear and nerve unto the brain; and the brain hath motion but not
sound; from the brain, it reboundeth back into the nerves out-
ward, and thence it becometh an apparition without, which we
call sound. And to proceed to the rest of the senses, it is appar-
ent enough, that the smell and taste of the same thing, are not the
same to every man; and therefore are not in the thing smelt or
tasted, but in the men. So likewise the heat we feel from the fire
is manifestly in us, and is quite different from the heat which is
in the fire: for our heat is pleasure or pain, according as it is
great or moderate; but in the coal there is no such thing. By this
the fourth and last proposition is proved, viz. that as in vision,
so also in conceptions that arise from other senses, the subject
of their inherence is not in the object, but in the sentient.

to. And from hence also it followeth, that whatsoever acci-
dents or qualities our senses make us think there be in the world,
they be mot there, but are seeming and apparitions only: the
things that really ave in the world without us, are those motions
by which these seemings are caused. And this is the great decep-
tion of sense, which also is to be by sense corrected: for as sense
telleth me, when I see directly, that the colour seemeth to be in
the object; so also sense telleth me, when I see by reflection, what
colour is not in the object.

HUMAN NATURE 153

CHAPTER III. IMAGINATION AND DREAMS

1. As standing water put into motion by the stroke of a
stone, or blast of wind, doth not presently give over moving as
soon as the wind ceaseth, or the stone settleth: so neither doth
the effect cease which the object hath wrought upon the brain,
so soon as ever by turning aside of the organs the object ceaseth
to work; that is to say, though the sense be past, the image or
conception remaineth; but more obscure while we are awake, be-
cause some object or other continually plieth and soliciteth our
eyes, and ears, keeping the mind in a sironger motion, whereby
the weaker doth not easily appear. And this obscure concep-
tion is that we call phantasy, or imagination: imagination being,
to define it, conception remaining, and by little and litile decay-
ing from after and the act of sense.

2. But when present sense is vot, as in sleep, there the images
remaining after sense, when there be many, as in dreams, are
not obscure, but strong and clear, as in sense itself. The reason is,
that which obscured and made the conceptions weak, namely
sense, and present operation of the object, is removed: for sleep
is the privation of the act of sense, (the power remaining) and
dreams are the imagination of them that sleep.

3. The causes of dreams, if they be natural, are the actions or
violence of the inward parts of a man upon his brain, by which
the passages of sense by sleep benumbed, are restored to their
motion. The signs by which this appeareth to be so, are the
differences of dreams (old men commonly dream oftener, and
have their dreams more painful than young) proceeding from
the different accidents of man’s body, as dreams of lust, as
dreams of anger, according as the heart, or other parts within,
work more or less upon the brain, by more or less heat; so also
the descents of different sorts of phlegm maketh us a dream of
different tastes of meats and drinks; and I-believe there is a
reciprocation of motion from the brain to the vital parts, and
back from the vital parts to the brain; whereby not only imagin-
ation begetteth motion in those parts; but also motion in those
parts begetteth imagination like to that by which it was begot-

154 THOMAS HOBBES

ten. If this be true, and that sad imaginations nourish the
spleen, then we see also a cause, why a strong spleen recipro-
cally causeth fearful dreams, and why the effects of lascivious-
ness may in a dream produce the image of some person that had
causedthem. Another sign that dreams are caused by the action
of the inward parts, is the disorder and casual consequence of
one conception or image to another: for when we are waking,
the antecedent thought or conception introduceth, and is cause
of the consequent, as the water followeth a man’s finger upon a
dry and level table; but in dreams there is commonly no coher-
ence, and when there is, it is by chance, which must needs pro-
ceed from this, that the brain in dreams is not restored to its
motion in every part alike; whereby it cometh to pass, that our
thoughts appear like the stars between the flying clouds, not in
the order which a man would choose to observe them, but as the
uncertain flight of broken clouds permits.

4. As when the water, or any liquid thing moved at once by
divers movements, receiveth one motion compounded of them
all; so also the brain or spirit therein, having been stirred by
divers objects, composeth an imagination of divers conceptions
that appeared single to the sense. As for example, the sense
sheweth at one time the figure of a mountain, and at another
time the colour of gold; but the imagination afterwards hath
them both at once in a golden mountain. From the same cause
it is, there appear unto us casiéles in the air, chimeras, and other
monsters which are not in rerum natura, but have been conceived
by the sense in pieces at several times. And this composition is
that which we commonly call fiction of the mind.

5. There is yet another kind of imagination, which for clear-
ness contendeth with sense, as well as a dream; and that is, when
the action of sense hath been long or vehement: and the experi-
ence thereof is more frequent in the sense of seeing, than the
rest. An example whereof is, the image remaining before the
eye after looking upon the sum. Also, those little images that
appear before the eyes in the dark (whereof I think every man
hath experience, but they most of all, who are timorous or
superstitious) are examples of the same. And these, for distinc-.
tion-sake, may be called phantasms.

HUMAN NATURE 155

6. By the senses, which are numbered according to the or-
gans to be five, we take notice (as hath been said already) of the
objects without us; and that notice is our conception thereof: but
we take notice also some way or other of our conceptions: for when
the conception of the same thing cometh again, we take notice
that it is again; that is to say, that we have had the same con-
ception before; which is as much as to imagine a thing past;
which is impossible to the sense, which is only of things present.
This therefore may be accounted a sixth sense, but internal, (not
external, as the rest) and is commonly called remembrance.

7. For the manner by which we take notice of a conception
past, we are to remember, that in the definition of imagination,
it is said to be a conception by /éétle and litile decaying, or growing
more obscure. An obscure conception is that which representeth
the whole object together, but none of the smaller parts by them-
selves; and as more or fewer parts be represented, so is the con-
ception or representation said to be more or less clear. Seeing
then the conception, which when it was first produced by sense,
was clear, and represented the parts of the object distinctly; and
when it cometh again is obscure, we find missing somewhat that
we expected; by which we judge it past and decayed. For exam-
ple, a man that is present in a foreign city, seeth not only whole
streets, but can also distinguish particular houses, and paris of
houses; but departed thence, he cannot distinguish them so
particularly in his mind as he did, some house or turning escap-
ing him; yet is this to remember; when afterwards there escape
him more particulars, this is also to remember, but not so well. In
process of time, the image of the city returneth but as a mass of
building only, which is almost to have forgotien it. Seeing then
remembrance is more or less, as we find more or less obscurity,
why may not we well think remembrance to be nothing else but
the missing of parts, which every man expecteth should succeed
after they have a conception of the whole? To see at a great
distance of place, and to remember at a great distance of time,
is to have like conceptions of the thing: for there wanteth dis-
tinction of parts in both; the one conception being weak by
operation at distance, the other by decay. -

156 THOMAS HOBBES

8. And from this that hath been said, there followeth, that a
man can never know he dreameth; he may dream he doubteth,
whether it be a dream or no: but the clearness of the imagina-
tion representeth every thing with as many parts as doth sense
itself, and consequently, he can take notice of nothing but as
present; whereas to think he dreameth, is to think those his con-
ceptions, that is to say dreams, obscurer than they were in the
sense; so that he must think them both as clear, and not as
clear as sense; which is impossible.

g. From the same ground it proceedeth, that men wonder not
in their dreams at place and persons, as they would do waking:
for waking, a man would think it strange to be in a place where
he never was before, and remember nothing of how he came
there; but in a dream, there cometh little of that kind into con-
sideration. The clearness of conception in a dream, taketh away
distrust, unless the strangeness be excessive, as to think himself
fallen from on high without hurt, and then most commonly he
waketh.

10. Nor is it impossible for a man to be so far deceived, as
when his dream is past, to think it real: for if he dream of such
things as are ordinarily in his mind, and in such order as he
useth to do waking, and withal that he laid him down to sleep
in the place where he findeth himself when he awaketh; all .
which may happen: I know no «pernpvov or mark by which he
can discern whether it were a dream or not, and therefore do
the less wonder to hear a man sometimes to tell his dream for a
truth, or to take it for a vision.

CHAPTER IV. THOUGHT

1. THE succession of conceptions in the mind, series or conse-
quence of one after another, may be casual and incoherent, as in
dreams for the most part; and it may be orderly, as when the
former thought introduceth the latter; and this is discourse of
the mind. But because the word discourse is commonly taken
for the coherence and consequence of words, I will, to avoid
equivocation, call it discursion.

HUMAN NATURE 137

2. The cause of the coherence or consequence of one concep-
tion to another, is their first coherence or consequence at that
time when they are produced by sense: as for example, from St.
Andrew the mind runneth to St. Peter, because their names are
read together; from St. Peter to a stone, for the same cause; from
stone to foundation, because we see them together; and for the
same cause, from foundation to church, and from church to
people, and from people to ¢wmult: and according to this exam-
ple, the mind may run almost from anything to anything. But
as in the sense the conception of cause and effect may succeed
one another; so may they after sense in the ¢magination: and for
the most part they do so; the cause whereof is the appetite of
them, who, having a conception of the end, have next unto it a
conception of the next means to that end: as, when a man, from
a thought of honour to which he hath an appetite, cometh to the
thought of wisdom, which is the next means thereunto; and
from thence to the thought of study, which is the next means to
wisdom.

3. To omit that kind of discursion by which we proceed from
anything to anything, there are of the other kind divers sorts: as
first, in the senses there are certain coherences of conceptions,
which we may call ranging; examples whereof are; a man cast-
eth his eye upon the ground, to look about for some small thing
lost; the hounds casting about at,a fault in hunting; and the
ranging of spaniels: and herein we take a beginning arbitrary.

4. Another sort of discursion is, when the appetite giveth a
man his beginning, as in the example before, where honour to
which a man hath appetite, maketh him think upon the next
means of attaining it, and that again of the next, &c. And this
the Latins call sagacitas, and we may call hunting or tracing,
as dogs trace beasts by the smell, and men hunt them by
their footsteps; or as men hunt after riches, place, or know-
ledge.

5. There is yet another kind of discursion beginning with the
appetite to recover something lost, proceeding from the present
backward, from thought of the place where we miss at, to the
thought of the place from whence we came Jast; and from the

158 THOMAS HOBBES

thought of that, to the thought of a place before, till we have in
our mind some place, wherein we had the thing we miss: and
this is called reminiscence.

6. The remembrance of succession of one thing to another,
that is, of what was antecedent, and what consequent, and what
concomitant, is called an experiment; whether the same be made
by us voluntarily, as when a man putteth any thing into the fire,
to see what effect the fire will produce upon it: or mot made by
us, as when we remember a fair morning after a red evening.
To have had many experiments, is that we call experience, which
is nothing else but remembrance of what antecedents have been
followed by what consequents,

7. No man can have in his mind a conception of the future,
for the future is ot yet: but of our conceptions of the past, we
make a future; or rather, call past, future relatively. Thus after
a man hath been accustomed to see like antecedents followed
by like consequents, whensoever he seeth the like come to pass
to any thing he had seen before, he looks there should follow
it the same that followed then: as for example, because a man
hath often seen offences followed by punishment, when he
seeth an offence in present, he thinketh punishment to be con-
sequent thereunto; but consequent unto that which is present,
men call future; and thus we make remembrance to be the pre-
vision of things to come, or expectation or presumption of the
future.

8. In the same manner, if a man seeth in present that which
he hath seen before, he thinks that that which was antecedent
to that which he saw before, is also antecedent to that he pre-
sently seeth: as for example, he that hath seen the ashes remain
after the fire, and now again seeth ashes, concludeth again
there hath been fire: and this is called again conjecture of the past,
or presumption of the fact.

g. When a man hath so often observed like antecedents to be
followed by like consequents, that whensoever he seeth the ante-
cedent, he looketh again for the consequent; or when he seeth
the consequent, maketh account there hath been the like ante-
cedent; then he calleth both the antecedent and the consequent,

HUMAN NATURE 159

signs one of another, as clouds are signs of rain to come, and
rain of clouds past.

10. This taking of signs by experience, is that wherein men
do ordinarily think, the difference stands between man and man
in wisdom, by which they commonly understand a man’s whole
ability or power cognitive ; but this is an error: for the signs are
but conjectural; and according as they have often or seldom
failed, so their assurance is more or less; but never full and evi-
dent: for though a man have always seen the day and night to
follow one another hitherto; yet can he not thence conclude
they shall do so, or that they have done so eternally: experi-
ence concludeth nothing universally. Tf the signs hit twenty times
for one missing, a man may lay a wager of twenty to one of the
event; but may not conclude it for a truth. But by this it is
plain, that they shall conjecture best, that have most experience,
because they have most signs to conjecture by: which is the
reason old men are more prudent, that is, conjecture better,
ceteris paribus, than young: for, being old, they remember
more; and experience is but remembrance. And men of quick
imagination, ceteris paribus, are more prudent than those whose
imaginations are slow: for they observe more in less time. Prud-
ence is nothing but conjecture from experience, or taking of
signs from experience warily, that is, that the experiments from
which he taketh such signs be all remembered; for else the cases
are not alike that seem so.

11. Asin conjecture concerning things past and future, it is
prudence to conclude from experience, what is like to come to
pass, or to have passed already; so it is an error to conclude
from it, that it is so or so called; that is to say, we cannot from
experience conclude, that any thing is to be called just or unjust,
true or false, or any proposition universal whatsoever, except
it be from remembrance of the use of names imposed arbitrarily
by men: for example, to have heard a sentence given in the like
case, the like sentence a thousand times is not enough to con-
clude that the sentence is just; though most men have no other
means to conclude by: butit is necessary, for the drawing of such
conclusion, to trace and find out, by many experiences, what men

160 THOMAS HOBBES

do mean by calling things just and unjust. Further, there is
another caveat to be taken in concluding by experience, from
the tenth section of the second chapter; that is, that we con-
clude such things to be without, that are within us.

CHAPTER VI. KNOWLEDGE AND BELIEF

1. THERE is a story somewhere, of one that pretends to have
been miraculously cured of blindness, wherewith he was born,
by St. Alban or other Saints, at the town of St. Alban’s; and
that the Duke of Gloucester being there, to be satisfied of the
truth of the miracle, asked the man, What colour is this? who,
by answering, it was green, discovered himself, and was pun-
ished for a counterfeit: for though by his sight newly received
he might distinguish between green, and red, and all other col-
ours, as well as any that should interrogate him, yet he could
not possibly know at first sight which of them was called green,
or red, or by any other name. By this we may understand,
there be two kinds of knowledge, whereof the one is nothing else
but sense, or knowledge original, as I have said in the beginning
of the second chapter, and remembrance of the same; the other is
called science or knowledge of the truth of propositions, and how
things are called, and is derived from understanding. Both of
these sorts are but experience; the former being the experience
of the effects of things that work upon us from without; and the
latter experience men have from the proper use of names in
language: and all experience being, as I have said, but remem-
brance, all knowledge is remembrance: and of the former, the
register we keep in books, is called history; but the registers of
the latter are called the sciences.

2. There are two things necessarily implied in this word
knowledge; the one is truth, the other evidence; for what is not
truth, can never be known. For, let a man say he knoweth a
thing never so well, if the same shall afterwards appear false,
he is driven to confession, that it was not knowledge, but opin-
ion. Likewise, if the truth be not evident, though a man holdeth
it, yet is his knowledge thereof no more than theirs who hold

HUMAN NATURE 161

the contrary: for if truth were enough to make it knowledge,
all truth were known; which is not so.

3. What truth is, hath been defined in the precedent chapter;
what evidence is, I now set down: and it is the concomitance of a
man’s conception with the words that signify such conception
in the act of ratiocination: for when a man reasoneth with his
lips only, to which the mind suggesteth only the beginning, and
followeth not the words of his mouth with the conceptions of
his mind, out of custom of so speaking; though he begin his
ratiocination with true propositions, and proceed with certain
syilogisms, and thereby make always true conclusions; yet are
not his conclusions evident to him, for want of the concomitance
of conception with his words: for if the words alone were suffi-
cient, a parrot might be taught as well to know truth, as to speak
it. Evidence is to truth, as the sap to the tree, which, so far as
it creepeth along with the body and branches, keepeth them
alive; where it forsaketh them, they die: for this evidence, which
is meaning with our words, is the life of truth.

4. Knowledge thereof, which we call sczence, I define to be
evidence of truth, from some beginning or principle of sense: for
the truth of a proposition is never evident, until we conceive the
meaning of the words or terms whereof it consisteth, which are
always conceptions of the mind: nor can we remember those
conceptions, without the thing that produced the same by our
senses. The first principle of knowledge is, that we have such
and such conceptions; the second, that we have thus and thus
named the things whereof they are conceptions; the third is,
that we have joined those names in such manner as to make
true propositions; the fourth and last is, that we have joined
those propositions in such manner as they be concluding,
and the truth of the conclusion said to be known. And of these
two kinds of knowledge, whereof the former is experience of fact,
and the latter evidence of truth; as the former, if it be great, is
called prudence; so the latter, if it be much, hath usually been
called, both by ancient and modern writers, sapience or wisdom
and of this Jatter, man only is capable; of the former, brute beasts
also participate.

162 THOMAS HOBBES

5. A proposition is said to be supposed, when, being not evi-
dent, it is nevertheless admitted for a time, to the end, that, join-
ing to it other propositions, we may conclude something; and to
proceed from conclusion to conclusion, for a évial whether the
same will lead us into any absurd or impossible conclusion;
whichif it do, then we know such supposition to have been false.

6. Butif running through mamy conclusions, we come to none
that are absurd, then we think the proposition probable; likewise
we think probable whatsoever proposition we admit for truth
by error of reasoning, or from trusting to other men: and all such
propositions as are admitted by érust or error, we are not said to
know, but to think them to be true; and the admittance of them
is called opinion.

7. And particularly, when the opinion is admitted out of
trust to other men, they are said to believe it; and their admit-
tance of it is called belief, and sometimes faith.

8. It is either science or opinion which we commonly mean
by the word conscience: for men say that such and such a thing
is true in or upon their conscience; which they never do, when
they think it doubtful; and therefore they know, or think they
know it to be true. But men, when they say things upon their
conscience, are not therefore presumed certainly to know the
truth of what they say; it remaineth then, that that word is
used by them that have an opinion, not only of the truth of the
thing, but also of their knowledge of it, to which the truth of the -
proposition is consequent. Conscience I therefore define to be
opinion of evidence.

9. Belief, which is the admitting of propositions upon trust,
in many cases is no less free from doubt, than perfect and mani-
fest knowledge : for as there is nothing whereof there is not some
cause; so, when there is doubt, there must be some cause there-
of conceived. Now there be many things which we receive from
report of others, of which it is impossible to imagine any cause of
doubt for what can be opposed against the consent of all men,
in things they can know, and have no cause to report otherwise
than they are, such as is a great part of our histories, unless a
man would say that all the world had conspired to deceive him.

HUMAN NATURE 163

And thus much of sense, imagination, discursion, ratiocina-
tion, and knowledge, which are the acts of our power cognitive, or
conceptive. That power of the mind which we call motive, dif-
fereth from the power motive of the body; for the power motive
of the body is that by which it moveth other bodies, and we call
strength : but the power motive of the mind, is that by which the
mind giveth animal motion to that body wherein it existeth; the
acts hereof are our affections and passions, of which I am to
speak in general.

CHAPTER VII. THE PASSIONS

_ 1. In the eighth section of the second chapter is shewed, that
conceptions and apparitions are nothing really, but motion in
some internal substance of the ead; which motion not stopping
there, but proceeding to the heart, of necessity must there either
help or hinder the motion which is called vtal; when it helpeth,
it is called delight, contentment, or pleasure, which is nothing
really but motion about the heart, as conception is nothing but
motion in the head: and the objects that cause it are called
pleasant or delightful, or by some name equivalent; the Latins
have jucundum, a juvando, from helping; and the same delight,
with reference to the object, is called love : but when such motion
weakeneth or hindereth the vital motion, then it is called pain;
and in relation to that which causeth it, hatred, which the
Latins express sometimes by odiwm, and sometimes by tedium.

2. This motion, in which consisteth pleasure or pain, is also a
solicitation or provocation either to draw near to the thing that
pleaseth, or to retire from the thing that displeaseth; and this
solicitation is the endeavour or internal beginning of animal
motion, which when the object delighteth, is called appetite;
when it displeaseth, it is called aversion, in respect of the dis-
pleasure present; but in respect of the displeasure expected, fear.
So that, pleasure, love, and appetite, which is also called desire,
are divers names for divers considerations of the same thing.

3. Every man, for his own part, calleth that which pleaseth,
and is delightful to himself, good; and that evil which displeas-

164 _ THOMAS HOBBES

eth him: insomuch that while every man differeth from another
in constitution, they differ also from one another concerning the
common distinction of good and evil. Nor is there any such
thing as absolute goodness, considered without relation: for
even the goodness which we apprehend in God Almighty, is his
goodness to us. And as we call good and evil the things that please -
and displease; so call we goodness and badness, the qualities or
powers whereby they do it: and the signs of that goodness are
called by the Latins in one word pulchritudo, and the signs of
evil, turpitudo; to which we have no words precisely answerable.

As all conceptions we have immediately by the sense, are,
delight, or pain, or appetite, or fear; so are all the imaginations
after sense. But as they are weaker imaginations, so are they
also weaker pleasures, or weaker pain.

4. As appetite is the beginning of animal motion towards
something that pleaseth us; so is the attaining thereof, the end
of that motion, which we also call the scope, and aim, and final
cause of the same: and when we attain that end, the delight we
have thereby is called the fruition: so that bonum and finis are
different names, but for different considerations of the same
thing.

5. And of ends, some of them are called propinqui, that is,
near at hand; others remoti, far off: but when the ends that be
nearer attaining, be compared with those that be further off,
they are called not ends, but means, and the way to those. But
for an utmost end, in which the ancient philosophers have placed
felicity, and disputed much concerning the way thereto, there
is no such thing in this world, nor way to it, more than to
Utopia: for while we live, we have desires, and desire presup-
poseth a further end. Those things which please us, as the way
or means to a further end, we call profitable; and the fruition of
them, use; and those things that profit not, vain.

6. Seeing all delight is appetite, and presupposeth a further
end, there can be uo contentment but in proceeding : and there-
fore we are not to marvel, when we see, that as men attain to
more riches, honour, or other power; so their appetite continu-
ally groweth more and more; and when they are come to the

HUMAN NATURE 165

utmost degree of some kind of power, they pursue some other,
as long as in any kind they think themselves behind any other:
of those therefore that have attained to the highest degree of
honour and riches, some have affected mastery in some art; as
Nero in music and poetry, Commodus in the art of a gladiator;
and such as affect not some such thing, must find diversion and
recreation of their thoughts in the contention either of play or
business: and men justly complain of a great grief, that they
know not what to do. Felicity, therefore, by which we mean
continual delight, consisteth not in having prospered, but in
prospering.

7. There are few things in this world, but ezther have mixture
of good and evil, or there is a chain of them so necessarily linked
together, that the one cannot be taken without the other: as for
example, the pleasures of sin, and the bitterness of punishment,
are inseparable; as is also labour and honour, for the most part.
Now when in the whole chain, the greater part is good, the whole
is called good; and when the evil over-weigheth, the whole is called
evil.

8. There are two sorts of pleasure, whereof the one seemeth
to affect the corporeal organ of the sense, and that I call sensual;
the greatest part whereof, is that by which we are invited to give
continuance to our species; and the next, by which a man is
invited to meat, for the preservation of his individual person:
the other sort of delight is not particular to any part of the body,
and is called the delight of the mind, and is that which we call

joy. Likewise of pains, some affect the body, and are therefore
called the pains of the body; and some not, and those are called
grief.

CHAPTER XII. THE WILL

1. It hath been declared already, how eternal objects cause
conceptions, and conceptions, appetite and fear, which are the
first unperceived beginnings of our actions; for either the actions
immediately follow the first appetite, as when we do anything
upon a sudden; or else to our first appetite there succeedeth
some conception of evil to happen to us by such actions, which

166 THOMAS HOBBES

is fear, and which holdeth us from proceeding. And to that fear
may succeed a new appetite, and to that appetite another fear
alternately, till the action be either done, or some accident come
between, to make it impossible; and so this alternate appetite
and fear ceaseth. This alternate succession of appetite and fear
during all the time the action is in our power to do or not to do,
is that we call deliberation; which name hath been given it for
that part of the definition wherein it is said that it lasteth solong

‘as the action, whereof we deliberate, is in our power: for, so
long we have liberty to do or not to do; and deliberation signi-
fieth a taking away of our own liberty.

2. Deliberation therefore requireth in the action deliberated
two conditions; one, that it be future; the other, that there be
hope of doing it, or possibility of not doing it; for, appetite and
fear are expectations of the future; and there is no expectation of
good, without hope; or of evil, without possibility: of necessaries
therefore there is no deliberation. In deliberation, the last appe-
tite, as also the last fear, is called will, viz. the last appetite,
will to do, or will to omit. It is all one therefore to say will and
last will; for, though a man express his present inclination and
appetite concerning the disposing of his goods, by words or
writings; yet shall it not be counted his will, because he hath
still liberty to dispose of them other ways: but when death taketh
away that liberty, then it is his will.

3. Voluntary actions and omissions are such as have begin-
ning in the will; all other are involuntary, or mixed voluntary;
involuntary, such as he doth by necessity of nature, as when he
is pushed, or falleth, and thereby doth good or hurt to another:
mixed, such as participate of both; as when a man is carried to
prison, going is voluntary, to the prison, is involuntary: the
example of him that throweth his goods out of a ship into the
sea, to save his person, is of an action altogether voluntary: for,
there is nothing therein involuntary, but the hardness of the
choice, which is not his action, but the action of the winds:
what he himself doth, is no more against his will, than to flee
from danger is against the will of him that seeth no other means
to preserve himself.

HUMAN NATURE 167

mB Voluntary also are the actions that proceed from sudden
anger, or other sudden appetite in such men as can discern good
or evil: for, in them the time precedent zs to be judged delibera-
tion: for then also he deliberateth in what cases it is good to
strike, deride, or do any other action proceeding from anger or
other such sudden passion. ;

5. Appetite, fear, hope, and the rest of the passions are not
called voluntary; for they proceed not from, but are the will; and
the will is not voluntary: for, a man can no more say he will
will, then he will will will, and so make an infinite repetition of
the word [will]; which is absurd, and insignificant.

6. Forasmuch as will to do is appetite, and will to omit, fear;
the cause of appetite and fear is the cause also of our will: but
the propounding of the benefits and of harms, that is to say, of
reward and punishment, is the cause of our appetite, and of our
fears, and therefore also of our wills, so far forth as we believe
that such rewards and benefits as are propounded, shall arrive
unto us; and consequently, our wills follow our opinions, as our
actions follow our wills; in which sense they say truly, and pro- —
perly, that say the world is governed by opinion.

7. When the wills of many concur to one and the same action
and effect, this concourse of their wills is called consent; by which
we must not understand one will of many men, for every man
hath his several will, but many wills to the producing of one
effect: but when the wills of two divers men produce such ac-
tions as are reciprocally resistant one to the other, this is called
contention; and, being upon the persons one of another, battle:
whereas actions proceeding from consent, are mutual aid.

8. When many wills are involved or included in the will of
one or more consenting, (which how it may be, shall be here-
after declared) then is that involving of many wills in one or
more, called union.

9. In deliberations interrupted, as they may be by diversion
of other business, or by sleep, the last appetite of such part of
the deliberation is called intention, or purpose.

RENE DESCARTES
(1596-1650)
THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL

Translated from the French * by
HENRY A. P. TORREY

PART I

ARTICLE I

Passion, as respects the subject, is always action in some other
res pect.

THERE is nothing which better shows how defective the sci-
ences are which we have received from the ancients than what
they have written upon the passions; for, although it is a sub-
ject the knowledge of which has always been much sought after,
and which does not appear to be one of the more difficult sci-
ences, because everyone, feeling the passions in himself, stands
in no need whatever of borrowing any observation elsewhere to
discover their nature, nevertheless, what the ancients have
taught on this subject is of such slight intent, and for the -
most part so untrustworthy, that I cannot have any hope of
reaching the truth, except by abandoning the paths which they
have followed. That is the reason why I shall be obliged. to
write now in the same way as I should if I were treating a topic
which no one before me had ever touched upon; and, to begin
with, I take into consideration the fact that an event is gener-
ally spoken of by philosophers as a passion as regards the sub-
ject to which it happens, and an action in respect to that which
causes it; so that, although the agent and the patient may often

* From Les passions de l’éme, Amst. 1650. In Giuvres,t.iv. Reprinted from

The Philosophy of Descartes, in Extracts from his Writings, selected and trans-
lated by Henry A. P. Torrey. New York, Henry Holt and Company, 1892.

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 169

be very different, action and passion are always one and the
same thing, which has these two names because of the two
different subjects to which it can be referred.

ARTICLE II

In order to understand the passions of the soul, it is necessary
to distinguish its functions from those of the body.

Next I take into consideration that we know of no subject
which acts more immediately upon our soul than the body to
which it is joined, and that consequently we must think that .
what in the one is a passion is commonly in the other an ac-
tion; so that there is no better path to the knowledge of our
passions than to examine into the difference between the soul
and the body, in order to know to which of them is to be
attributed each of our functions.!

ARTICLE III

The rule to be observed to this end.

No great difficulty will be found in this, if it be borne in mind
that all that which we experience in ourselves which we see can
also take place in bodies entirely inanimate is to be attributed
only to our body; and, on the contrary, all that which is in us
and which we cannot conceive in any manner possible to pertain
to a body is to be attributed to our soul.

ARTICLE IV

That heat and the movement of the limbs proceed from the body,
thoughts from the mind.

Thus, because we cannot conceive that the body thinks in
any manner whatever, we have no reason but to think that all
forms of thought which are in us belong to the mind; and be-
cause we cannot doubt that there are inanimate bodies which
can move in as many or more different ways than ours, and

1 Cf. Meditation vi, in The Method, Meditations and Selections from the
Principles. Translated by John Veitch. Edin., 1850, etc.

“170 RENE DESCARTES

which have as much or more heat (as experience teaches us in
the case of flame, which alone has more heat and motion than
any of our members), we must believe that all the heat and all
the motions which are in us, in so far as they do not depend at
all on thought, belong only to the body.

ARTICLE V

That it is an error to think that the soul imparts motion and heat
to the body.

By this means we shall avoid a very great error, into which
many have fallen, an error which I consider to be the principal
hindrance, up to the present time, to a correct explanation of
the passions and other properties of the soul. It consists in this,
that, seeing that all dead bodies are deprived of heat and, conse-
quently, of motion, it is imagined that the absence of the soul
causes these movements and this heat to cease; and thus it has
been thought, without reason, that our natural heat and all the
motions of our body depend upon the soul; instead of which it
should be thought, on the contrary, that soul departs, when
death occurs, only because this heat fails and the organs which
serve to move the body decay.

ARTICLE VI

The difference between a living and a dead body.

In order, then, that we may avoid this error, let us consider
that death never takes place through the absence of a soul,
but solely because some one of the principal parts of the body
has fallen into decay; and let us conclude that the body of a
living man differs as much from that of a dead man as does a
watch or other automaton (that is to say, or other machine |
which moves of itself), when it is wound up, and has within
itself the material principle of the movements for which it is
constructed, with all that is necessary for its action, from the
same watch or other machine, when it has been broken, and the
principle of its movement ceases to act.

_THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 171

ARTICLE VII

Brief explanation of the parts of the body and of some of its
Junctions.*

In order to render this more intelligible, I will explain here
in a few words how the entire mechanism of our body is com-
posed. There is no one who does not already know that there
is in us a heart, a brain, a stomach, muscles, nerves, arteries,
veins, and such things; it is known also that the food we eat
descends into the stomach and the bowels, where their juices
flowing through the liver and through all the veins, mix them-
selves with the blood they contain, and by this means increase
its quantity. Those who have heard the least talk in medicine
know, further, how the heart is constructed, and how all the
blood of the veins can easily flow through the vena cava on its
right side, and thence pass into the lung, by the vessel which is
called the arterial vein, then return from the lung on the left
side of the heart, by the vessel called the venous artery, and
finally pass thence into the great artery, the branches of which
are diffused through the whole body. Also, all those whom the
authority of the ancients has not entirely blinded, and who are
willing to open their eyes to examine the opinion of Herveeus?
in regard to the circulation of the blood, have no doubt what-
ever that all the veins and arteries of the body are merely chan-
nels through which the blood flows without cessation and very
rapidly, starting from the right cavity of the heart by the arte-
rial vein, the branches of which are dispersed throughout the
lungs and joined to that of the venous artery, by which it passes
from the lungs into the left side of the heart; next, from thence
it passes into the great artery, the branches of which, scattered
throughout all the rest of the body, are joined to the branches of
the vein, which carry once more the same blood into the right
cavity of the heart; so that these two cavities are like sluices,
through each of which all the blood passes every time it makes
the circuit of the body. Still further, it is known that all the

1 Cf. Discourse on Method, pt. v.; Veitch, p. 46; (Guvres, t. i, p. 173).
2 Harvey. See tribute to Harvey (wvres, t. ix, p. 361).

172 RENE DESCARTES

movements of the limbs depend upon the muscles, and that
these muscles are opposed to one another in such a way that,
when one of them contracts, it draws toward itself the part of
the body to which it is attached, which at the same time
stretches out the muscle which is opposed to it; then, if it hap-
pens, at another time, that this last contracts, it causes the first
to lengthen, and draws toward itself the part to which they are
attached. Finally, it is known that all these movements of the
muscles, as also all the senses, depend upon the nerves, which
are like minute threads, or small tubes, all of which come from
the brain, and contain, like that, a certain subtle air or breath,
which is called the animal spirits.

ArtTIcLe VIII

The principle of all these functions.

But it is not commonly known in what manner these animal
spirits and these nerves contribute to the movements of the
limbs and to the senses, nor what is the corporeal principle
which makes them act; it is for this reason, although I have al-
ready touched upon this matter in other writings,’ I shall not
omit to say here briefly, that, as long as we live, there is a con-
tinual heat in our heart, which is a kind of fire kept up there by
the blood of the veins, and that this fire is the corporeal prin-
ciple of the movements of our limbs... .

ARTICLE XVI

How all the limbs can be moved by the objects of the senses and by
the spirits without the aid of the soul.

Finally, it is to be observed that the machine of our body is so
constructed that all the changes which occur in the motion of
the spirits may cause them to open certain pores of the brain
rather than others, and, reciprocally, that when any one of
these pores is opened in the least degree more or less than is
usual by the action of the nerves which serve the senses, this
changes somewhat the motion of the spirits, and causes them

1 On Man; also Discourse on Method, etc.; trans. by Veitch, p. 52.

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 173

to be conducted into the muscles which serve to move the body
in the way in which it is commonly moved on occasion of such
action; so that all the movements which we make without our
will contributing thereto (as frequently happens when we
breathe, or walk, or eat, and, in fine, perform all those actions
which are common to us and the brutes) depend only on the
conformation of our limbs and the course which the spirits,
excited by the heat of the heart, naturally follow in the brain,
in the nerves, and in the muscles, in the same way that the
movement of a watch is produced by the force solely of its
mainspring and the form of its wheels. .. .

ARTICLE XXX

That the soul is united to all parts of the body conjointly.

But, in order to understand all these things more perfectly,
it is necessary to know that the soul is truly joined to the entire
body, and that it cannot properly be said to be in any one of its
parts to the exclusion of the rest, because the body is one, and in
a manner indivisible, on account of the arrangement of its or-
gans, which are so related to one another, that when any one
of them is taken away, that makes the whole body defective:
and because the soul is of a nature which has no relation to ex-
tension, or to dimensions, or other properties of the matter of
which the body is composed, but solely to the whole collection
of its organs, as appears from the fact that we cannot at all
conceive of the half or the third of a soul, nor what space it
occupies, and that it does not become any smaller when any
part of the body is cut off, but that it separates itself entirely
from it when the combination of its organs is broken up.

ARTICLE XXXT

That there is a small gland in the brain in which the soul
exercises its functions more particularly than im the other
parts.

It is, also, necessary to know that, although the soul is joined
to the entire body, there is, nevertheless, a certain part of the

174 RENE DESCARTES |

body in which it exercises its functions more particularly than
in all the rest; and it is commonly thought that this part is the
brain, or, perhaps, the heart: the brain, because to it the organs
of sense are related; and the heart, because it is as if there the
passions are felt. But, after careful examination, it seems to me
quite evident that the part of the body in which the soul im-
mediately exercises its functions is neither the heart, nor even
the brain as a whole, but solely the most interior part of it,
which isa certain very small gland, situated in the middle of its
substance, and so suspended above the passage by which the
spirits of its anterior cavities communicate with those of the
posterior, that the slightest motions in it may greatly affect the
course of these spirits, and, reciprocally, that the slightest
changes which take place in the course of the spirits may
greatly affect the motions of this gland.

ARTICLE XXXII

How this gland is known to be the principal seat of the soul.

The reason which convinces me that the soul cannot have in
the whole body any other place than this gland where it exer-
cises its functions immediately, is the consideration that the
other parts of our brain are all double, just as also we have two
eyes, two hands, two ears, and, in fine, all the organs of our
external senses are double; and inasmuch as we have but one
single and simple thought of the same thing at the same time,
there must necessarily be some place where the two images
which by means of the two eyes, or the two other impressions
which come from a single object by means of the double organs
of the other senses, may unite in one before they reach the
mind, in order that they may not present to it two objects in
place of one; and it may easily be conceived that these images
or other impressions unite in this gland, through the medium
of the spirits which fill the cavities of the brain; but there
is no other place whatever in the whole body, where they can
thus be united, except as they have first been united in this
gland.

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 175
Letter to Mersenne, July 30, 1640!

As for the letter of the physician De Sens, it contains no argu-
ment to impugn what I have written upon the gland called
conarium, except that he says that it can be changed like all the
brain, which does not at all prevent its being the principal seat
of the soul; for it is certain that the soul must be joined:to some
part of the body, and there is no point which is not as much or
more liable to alteration than this gland, which, although it is
very small and very soft, nevertheless, on account of its situa-
tion, is so well protected, that it can be almost as little subject
to any disease as the crystalline humor of the eye; and it hap-
pens more frequently indeed that persons become troubled in
mind, without any known cause, in which case it may be assigned
to some disorder of this gland, than it happens that sight fails
by any defect of this crystalline humor, besides that all the
other changes which happen to the mind, as when one falls asleep
after drinking, etc., may be ascribed to some changes occurring
in this gland.

As for what he says about the mind’s being able to make use
of double organs, I agree with him, and that it makes use also
of the spirits, all of which cannot reside in this gland; but I do
not at all conceive that the mind is so restricted to it that it
cannot extend its activity beyond it; but it is one thing to make
use of, and another thing to be immediately joined and united
to it; and our mind not being double, but one and indivisible,
it seems to me that the part of the body to which it is most
immediately united must also be one and not divided into two
similar parts, and I find nothing of that kind in the whole brain
except this gland.

ARTICLE XXXIII

That the seat of the passions is not in the heart.

As for the opinion of those who think that the soul experi-
ences its passions in the heart, it is of no great account, because
it is founded only on the fact that the passions cause some stir

1 Gwrres, t. viii, p. 301.

176 RENE DESCARTES

to be felt there; and it is easy to see that this change is felt, as if
in the heart, only through the medium of a small nerve, which
descends to it from the brain, just as pain is felt as if in the foot
through the medium of the nerves of the foot, and the stars are
perceived as in the heavens by the medium of their light and the
optic nerves; so that it is no more necessary that our soul exer-
cise its functions immediately in the heart in order to feel there
its passions, than it is necessary that it should be in the heavens
in order to see the stars there.

ARTICLE XXXIV

How the soul and the body act one upon the other.

Let us conceive, then, that the soul has its principal seat in
this little gland in the middle of the brain, whence it radiates
to all the rest of the body by means of the spirits, the nerves,
and even of the blood, which, participating in the impressions
of the mind, can carry them by means of the arteries into all the
members; and, bearing in mind what has been said above con-
cerning the machine of our body, to wit, that the minute fila-
ments of our nerves are so distributed throughout all its parts
that, on occasion of the different motions which are excited there
by means of sensible objects, they open in divers manners the
pores of the brain, which causes the animal spirits contained in
these cavities to enter in various ways into the muscles, by
means of which they can move the limbs in all the different ways
of which they are capable, and, also, that all the other causes,
which in other ways can set the spirits in motion, have the effect
to turn them upon various muscles [keeping all this in mind],
let us add here that the little gland which is the principal seat
of the soul is so suspended between the cavities which contain
the spirits, that it can be affected by them in all the different
ways that there are sensible differences in objects; but that it
can also be variously affected by the soul, which is of such a
nature that it receives as many different impressions — that is
to say, that it has as many different perceptions — as there
occur different motions in this gland; as also, reciprocally, the

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 177

machine of the body is so composed that from the simple fact
that this gland is variously affected by the soul, or by whatever
other cause, it impels the spirits which surround it toward
the pores of the brain, which discharge them by means of the
nerves upon the muscles, whereby it causes them to move the
limbs. ...

ARTICLE XL

The principal effect of the passions.

It is to be noted that the principal effect of all the passions in
man is that they incite and dispose the mind to will the things
to which they prepare the body, so that the sentiment of fear
incites it to will to fly; that of courage, to will to fight; and so of
the rest.

ARTICLE XLI

The power of the mind over the body.

But the will is so free in its nature that it can never be con-
strained; and of the two kinds of thoughts which I have dis-
tinguished in the mind — of which one is its actions, that is, its
volitions; the other its passions, taking this word in its most
general signification, comprehending all sort of perceptions —
the first of these are absolutely in its power, and can be changed
only indirectly by the body, while, on the contrary, the last
depend absolutely on the movements which give rise to them,
and they can be affected only indirectly by the mind, except
when it is itself the cause of them. And the whole action of the
mind consists in this, that by the simple fact of its willing any-
thing it causes the little gland, to which it is closely joined, to
produce the result appropriate to the volition.

ARTICLE XLII

How the things we wish to recall are found in the memory.

Thus, when the mind wills to recall anything, this volition
causes the gland, by inclining successively to different sides, to
impel the spirits toward different parts of the brain until they

178 RENE DESCARTES

come upon that where the traces are left of the thing it wills to
remember; for these traces are due to nothing else than the
circumstance that the pores of the brain, through which the
spirits have already taken their course, on presentation of that
object, have thereby acquired a greater facility than the rest
to be opened again in the same way by the spirits which come
to them; so that these spirits coming upon these pores, enter
therein more readily than into the others, by which means they
excite a particular motion in the gland, which represents to the
mind the same object, and causes it to recognize that it is that
which it willed to remember.

ARTICLE XLIII

How the mind can imagine, attend, and move the body.

Thus, when it is desired to imagine something which has
never been seen, the will has the power to cause the gland to
move in the manner requisite to impel the spirits toward the
pores of the brain by the opening of which that thing can be
represented; so, when one wills to keep his attention fixed for
some time upon the same object, this volition keeps the gland
inclined during that time in the same direction; so, finally, when
one wills to walk or to move his body in any way, this volition
causes the gland to impel the spirits toward the muscles which
serve that purpose.

ARTICLE XLIV

That each volition is naturally connected with some motion of
the gland, but that, by intention or by habit, the will may be con-
nected with others.

Nevertheless, it is not always the volition to excite within us
a certain motion, or other effect, which is the cause of its being
excited; but this varies according as nature or habit has vari-
ously united each motion of the gland to each thought. Thus,
for example, if one desires to adjust his eyes to look at a very
distant object, this volition causes the pupil of the eye to ex-
pand, and if he desires to adjust them so as to see an object very

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL’ 179

near, this volition makes it contract; but if he simply thinks of
expanding the pupil, he wills in vain — the pupil will not ex-
pand for that, inasmuch as nature had not connected the mo-
tion of the gland, which serves to impel the spirits toward the
optic nerve in the manner requisite for expanding or contract-
ing the pupil, with the volition to expand or contract, but with
that of looking at objects distant or near. And when, in talking,
we think only of the meaning of what we wish to say, that
makes us move the tongue and lips much more rapidly and
better than if we thought to move them in all ways requisite
for the utterance of the same words, inasmuch as the habit we
have acquired in learning to talk has made us join the action of
the mind — which, through the medium of the gland, can
move the tongue and the lips — with the meaning of the words
which follow these motions rather than with the motions them-
BeIVeS...i5

ARTICLE XLVII

Wherein consist the conflicts which are imagined to exist between
the inferior and the superior parts of the soul.

It isonly in the opposition between the motions that the body
through the spirits, and the soul through the will, tend to excite
at the same timein the gland, that all the conflicts consist which
are commonly imagined to arise between the inferior part of the
soul, which is called sensitive, and the superior part, which is
rational, or rather between the natural appetites and the will;
for there is but one soul within us, and that soul has in it no
diversity of parts whatever; the same which is sensitive is ra-
tional, and all its appetites are volitions. The error which is
committed in making it play the parts of different persons com-
monly opposed to each other arises only from the want of a
right distinction of its functions from those of the body, to
which is to be attributed all that which may be observed within
us to be hostile to our reason, so that there is in this no other
conflict whatever, except that the little gland which is in the
middle of the brain may be pushed on the one side by the soul

180 RENE DESCARTES

and on the other by the animal spirits, which are only corporeal,
as I have said above, and it often happens that these two im-
pulses are contrary, and the stronger hinders the effect of the
other. Now there may be distinguished two kinds of motion
excited by the spirits in the gland; the one represents to the soul
the objects which move the senses, or the impressions which
meet in the brain, and produce no effect upon the will; the other
kind is those which produce some effect upon it, namely, those
which cause the passions or the movements of the body which
accompany them; and as for the first, although they often
hinder the actions of the soul, or perhaps may be hindered by
them, nevertheless, because they are not directly opposed, no
conflict is observed. ...

PART II

ARTICLE LI

The primary causes of the passions.

It is understood, from what has been said above, that the
last and proximate cause of the passions of the soul is nothing
but the motion imparted by the spirits to the little gland in the
middle of the brain. But this is not enough to enable us to dis-
tinguish them from one another; it is necessary to trace them
to their sources and to inquire into their primary causes; now,
although they may sometimes be caused by the action of the
mind, which determines to think upon such or such objects,
and also by the mere bodily temperament or by the impressions
which happen to present themselves in the brain, as occurs when
one feels sad or joyous without being able to assign any reason
for it, it should appear, nevertheless, according to what has been
said, that the same passions may all be excited by objects which
move the senses, and that these objects are their most ordinary
and principal causes; whence it follows that, to discover
them all, it is sufficient to consider all the effects of these
objects.

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 181

ARTICLE LII

What service they render, and how their number may be deter-
mined.

I observe, further, that the objects which move the senses do
not excite in us different passions by reason of all the diversities
which are in them, but solely on account of the different ways
in which they can injure or profit us, or, in general, be import-
ant to us; and that the service which all the passions render
consists in this alone, that they dispose the mind to choose the
things which nature teaches us are useful, and to persist in this
choice, while also the same motion of the spirits which com-
monly causes them disposes the body to the movements which
serve to the performance of those things; this is why, in order to
determine the number of the passions, it is necessary merely to
inquire, in due order, how many different ways important to
us there are in which our senses can be moved by their objects;
and I shall here make the enumeration of all the principal pas-
sions in the order in which they may thus be found.

ArticLE LIII

Wonder.

When on first meeting an object we are surprised, and judge
it to be novel, or very different from what we knew it before, or
from what we supposed it should be, this causes us to wonder at
it and be astonished; and since this may happen before we could
know whether this object was beneficial to us or not, it seems
to me that wonder is the first of all the passions; and it has no
contrary, because, if the object which presents itself has no-
thing in it which surprises us, we are not at all moved by it,
and we regard it without emotion.

ARTICLE LXVIII

‘Why this enumeration of the passions differs from that com-

monly received.
Suchis the order which seems to me the best in enumerating
the passions. I know very well that in this my position is differ-

182 RENE DESCARTES

ent from that of all who have hitherto written upon them, but
it is so not without important reason. For they derive their
enumeration from their distinction in the sensitive part of the
soul of two appetites, one of which they call concupiscible, the
other irascible.1 And, inasmuch as I recognize in the soul no
distinction of parts, as I have said above, this seems to me to
signify nothing else but that it has two faculties: one of desiring,
the other of being angry; and because it has in the same way
the faculties of admiring, of loving, of hoping, of fearing, and of
entertaining each of the other passions, or of performing the
actions to which these passions incline it, I do not see why they
have chosen to refer all to desire or to anger. Moreover, their
enumeration does not include all the principal passions, as I
believe this does. I speak only of the principal ones, because
there may still be distinguished many other more special ones,
and their number is indefinite.

ARTICLE LXIX

That there are only six primary passions.

But the number of those which are simple and primary is not
very great. For, on reviewing all those which I have enumer-
ated, it is readily observed that there are only six of this sort; to
wit, wonder, love, hate, desire, joy, and sadness, and that all
the rest are made up of some of these six, or at least are species
of them. This is why, in order that their number may not em-
barrass my readers, I shall here treat separately of the six
primaries; and afterward I shall show how all the rest derive
their origin from these.

ARTICLE LXXIV

In what respect the passions are of service and in what they are
harmful.

Now it is easy to see, from what has been said above, that the
usefulness of all the passions consists only in this, that they
strengthen and make enduring in the mind the thoughts which

1 Plato, Republic, bk. iv.

. THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 183

it is well for it to keep, and which but for that might easily be
effaced from it. As, also, all the evil they can cause consists in
their strengthening and preserving those thoughts in the mind
more than there is any need of, or else that they strengthen and
preserve others which it is not well for the mind to attend to.

ARTICLE LX XIX

Definitions of love and hatred.

Love is an emotion of the soul, caused by the motion of the
spirits, which incites it to unite itself voluntarily to those ob-
jects which appear to it to be agreeable. And hatred is an emo-
tion, caused by the spirits, which incites the mind to will to be
separated from objects which present themselves to it as harm-
ful. Isay that these emotions are‘caused by the spirits, in order
to distinguish love and hatred, which are passions, and depend
upon the body, as well as the judgments which also incline the
mind to unite itself voluntarily with the things which it regards
as good, and to separate itself from those which it regards as
evil, as the emotions which these judgments excite in the soul.

ARTICLE LXXX

What is meant by voluntary union and separation.

For the rest, by the word voluntarily, I do not here intend
desire, which is a passion by itself, and relates to the future, but
the consent wherein one considers himself for the moment as
united with the beloved object, conceiving as it were of one
whole of which he thinks himself but one part, and the object
beloved the other. While on the contrary, in the case of hatred,
one considers himself alone as a whole, entirely separated from
the object for which he has aversion.

ARTICLE LXXXVI
Definition of desire.
The passion of desire is an agitation of the soul, caused by the
spirits, which disposes it to wish for the future the objects which

184. RENE DESCARTES

it represents to itself to be agreeable. Thus one desires not only
the presence of absent good, but also the preservation of the
present good, and, in addition, the absence of evil, as well that
which is already experienced as that which it is feared the
future may bring.

ARTICLE XCI

Definition of joy.

Joy is an agreeable emotion of the soul in which consists
the enjoyment that it has in any good which the impressions of
the brain represent to it as its own. I say that it is in this emo-
tion that the enjoyment of good consists, for in reality the soul
receives no other fruit of all the goods it possesses; and so long
as it has no joy in them, it may be said that it has no more frui-
tion of them than if it did not possess them at all. Iadd, also,
that it is of good which the impressions of the brain represent
to it as its own, in order not to confound this joy, which is a
passion, with the purely intellectual joy, which arises in the
mind by the simple activity of the mind, and which may be
said to be an agreeable emotion excited within itself, in which
consists the enjoyment which it has of the good which its
understanding represents to it as it own. It is true that, so
long as the mind is joined to the body, this intellectual joy can
scarcely fail to be accompanied with that joy which is passion;
for, as soon as our understanding perceives that we possess
any good, although that good may be as different as imagin-
able from all that pertains to the body, the imagination does
not fail on the instant to make an impression on the brain,
upon which follows the motion of the spirits which excites the
passion of joy.

ARTICLE XCII

Definition of sadness.

Sadness is a disagreeable languor, in which consists the dis-
tress which the mind experiences from the evil or the defect
which the impressions of the brain represent as pertaining to it.
And there is also an intellectual sadness, which is not the
passion, but which seldom fails to be accompanied by it.

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 185

ARTICLE XCVI

The motions of the blood and the spirits which cause these five
passions.

The five passions which I have here begun to explain are so
joined or opposed to one another, that it is easier to consider
them all together than to treat of each separately (as wonder
has been treated); and the cause of them is not as is the case
with wonder, in the brain alone, but also in the heart, the spleen,
the liver, and in all other parts of the body, in so far as they
serve in the production of the blood, and thereby of the spirits;
for although alltheveins conduct the blood they contain toward
the heart, it happens, nevertheless, that sometimes the blood in
some of them is impelled thither with more force than that in
others; it happens, also, that the openings by which it enters
into the heart, or else those by which it passes out, are more
enlarged or more contracted at one time than at another. .. .

ARTICLE CXXXVII

Of the utility of these five passions here explained, in so far as
they relate to the body.

Having given the definitions of love, of hatred, of desire, of
joy, of sadness (and treated of all the corporeal movements
which cause or accompany them?) we have only to consider
here their utility. In regard to which it is to be noted that,
according to the appointment of nature, they all relate to the
body, and are bestowed upon the mind only in so far as it is
connected with it; so that their natural use is to incite the mind
to consent and contribute to the actions which may aid in the
preservation of the body, or render it in any way more perfect;
and, in this sense, sadness and joy are the first two which are
employed. For the mind is immediately warned of the things
which harm the body only through the sensation of pain, which
produces in it first the passion of sadness; next, hatred of that
which causes this pain; and thirdly, the desire to be delivered

1 In the intervening Articles.

186 RENE DESCARTES

from it; likewise the mind is made aware immediately of things
useful to the body only by some sort of pleasure, which excites
in it joy, then gives birth to love of that which is believed to be
the cause of it, and, finally, the desire to acquire that which can
make the joy continue, or else that the like may be enjoyed
again. Whence it is apparent that these five passions are all
very useful as regards the body, and also that sadness is, in a
certain way, first and more necessary than joy, and hatred than
love, because it is more important to repel things which harm
and may destroy us, than to acquire those which add a per-
fection without which we can still subsist. . . .

ARTICLE CXLIV

Of desires where the issue depends only on ourselves.

But because the passions can impel us to action only through
the medium of the desire which we must take pains to regulate
— andin this consists the principal use of morality; now, as I
have just said, as it is always good when it follows a true know-
ledge, so it cannot fail to be bad when it is based on error. And
it seems to me that the error most commonly committed in
regard to desires is the failure to distinguish sufficiently the
things which depend entirely upon ourselves and those which
do not; for, as for those which depend only upon ourselves, that
is to say, upon our free will, it is sufficient to know that they are
good to make it impossible for us to desire them with too great
ardor, since to do the good things which depend upon ourselves
is to follow virtue, and it is certain that one cannot have too
ardent a desire for virtue, and moreover, it being impossible
for us to fail of success in what we desire in this way, since it
depends on ourselves alone, we shall always attain all the satis-
faction that we have expected. But the most common fault
in this matter is not that too much, but too little, is desired;
and the sovereign remedy against that is to deliver the mind as
much as possible from all other less useful desires, then to try
to understand very clearly, and to consider attentively, the
excellence of that which is to be desired.

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 187

ARTICLE CXLV

Of those which depend only on other things.

As for the things which depend in no wise upon ourselves,
however good they may be, they should never be desired with
passion; not only because they may not come to pass, and in
that case we should be so much the more cast down, as we have
the more desired them, but principally because by occupying
our thoughts they divert our interest from other things the
acquisition of which depends upon ourselves. And there are
two general remedies for these vain desires; the first is high-
mindedness (la générosité), of which I shall speak presently; the
second is frequent meditation on Divine Providence, with the
reflection that it is impossible that anything should happen in
any other manner than has been determined from all eternity
by this Providence; so that it is like a destiny or an immutable
necessity, which is to be contrasted with chance in order to
destroy it as a chimera arising only from an error of our under-
standing. For we can desire only those things which we regard
as being in some way possible, and we do not regard as possible
things which do not at all depend upon ourselves, except in so
far as we think that they depend on chance, that is to say, as we
judge that they can happen, and that similar things have hap-
pened before. Now this opinion is based only on the fact that
we do not know all the causes which have contributed to each
effect; for when anything which we have thought depended
upon chance has not taken place, this shows that some one of
the causes necessary to produce it was wanting, and, conse-
quently, that it was absolutely impossible, and the like of it
never took place; that is to say, to the production of the like a
similar cause was also wanting, so that, had we not been igno-
rant of that beforehand, we never should have thought it pos-
sible, and consequently should not have desired it.

ARTICLE CXLVI

Of those things which depend upon ourselves and others.
It is necessary then utterly to reject the common opinion

188 RENE DESCARTES

that there is externally to ourselves a chance which causes
things to happen or not to happen, at its pleasure, and to know,
on the other hand, that everything is guided by Divine Provi-
dence, whose eternal decree is so infallible and immutable, that,
excepting the things which the same decree has willed to depend
upon our free choice, we must think that in regard to us nothing
happens which is not necessary, and, as it were, destined, so that
we cannot, without folly, wish it to happen otherwise. But
because most of our desires extend to things, all of which do not
depend upon ourselves, nor all of them upon others, we should
distinguish precisely that in them which depends only on our- |
selves in order to confine our desires to that; and, moreover,
although we should consider success therein to be altogether a
matter of immutable destiny, in order that our desires may not
be taken up with it, we ought not to fail to consider the reasons
which make it more or less to be hoped for, to the end that they
may serve to regulate our conduct; as, for example, if we had
business in acertain place to which we might go by two different
roads, one of which was ordinarily much safer than the other,
although perhaps the decree of Providence was such that if
we went by the road considered safest we should certainly be
robbed, and that, on the contrary, we might travel the other
with no danger at all, we ought not on that account to be indif-
ferent in choosing between them, nor rest on the immutable
destiny of that decree; but reason would have it that we should
choose the road which was ordinarily considered the safer, and
our desire should be satisfied regarding that when we have fol-
lowed it, whatever be the evil that happens to us, because that
evil, being as regards ourselves inevitable, we have had no rea-
son to desire to be exempt from it, but simply to do the very
best that our understanding is able to discover, as I assume we
have done. And it is certain that when one thus makes a prac-
tice of distinguishing destiny from chance, he easily accustoms
himself so to regulate his desires that, in so far as their accom-
plishment depends only upon himself, they may always afford
him entire satisfaction.

THE PASSIONS OF THE SOUL 189

ARTICLE CXLVII

Of the interior emotions of the mind.

I will simply add a consideration which appears to me of
much service in averting from us"the disturbance of the pas-
sions: it is that our good and our evil principally depend upon
the interior emotions, which are excited in the mind only by the
mind itself, in which respect they differ from its passions, which
always depend upon some motion of the spirits; and although
these emotions of the mind are often united with the passions
which resemble them, they may often also agree with others,
and even arise from those which are contrary to them... .
And when we read of strange adventures in a book, or see them
represented on the stage, this excites in us sometimes sadness,
sometimes joy, or love, or hatred, and, in general, all the pas-
sions, according to the diversity of the objects which present
themselves to our imagination; but along with that we have
the pleasure of feeling them excited within us, and this pleasure
is an intellectual joy, which can arise from sadness as well as
from any other passion.’

ARTICLE CXLVIII

That the practice of virtue is a sovereign remedy for all the
passions.

Now, inasmuch as these interior emotions touch us more
nearly, and in consequence have much greater power over us
than the passions from which they differ, which occur with them,
itis certain that, provided the mind have that within wherewith
it may be content, all the troubles which come from elsewhere
have no power whatever to disturb it, but rather serve to aug-
ment its joy, in that, seeing that it cannot be troubled by them,
it is thereby made aware of its own superiority. And to the end
that the mind may have that wherewith to be content, it needs
but to follow virtue perfectly. For whoever has lived in such a
manner that his conscience cannot reproach him with ever

1 Cf. Aristotle, Poetics, 6.

190 RENE DESCARTES

having failed to do any of those things which he has judged to
be the best (which is what I call here following virtue), he en-
joys a satisfaction so potent in ministering to his happiness,
that the most violent efforts of the passions never have power
enough to disturb the tranquillity of his mind.

BARUCH DE SPINOZA
(1632-1677)
THE ETHICS

Translated from the Latin* by
GEORGE STUART FULLERTON

PART II. OF THE NATURE AND ORIGIN OF
THE MIND

I Now proceed to set forth those things that necessarily had
to follow from the essence of God, a Being eternal and infinite.
I shall not, indeed, treat of all of them, for I have shown (I, 16)
that there must follow from this essence an infinity of things in
infinite ways, but I shall treat only of those which may lead us,
as it were, by the hand, to a knowledge of the human mind and
its highest blessedness.

Definitions

1. By body I mean a mode which expresses, in a definite and
determinate manner, the essence of God, in so far as he is con-
sidered as an extended thing. (See I, 25, cor.)

2. I regard as belonging to the essence of a thing that which,
being given, the thing is necessarily given, and which being
taken away, the thing is necessarily taken away; in other words,
that without which the thing, and, conversely, which without
the thing, can neither be nor be conceived.

3. By idea I mean a conception of the mind, which the mind
forms because it is a thinking thing.

* Opera posthuma, Amsterdam, 1677; Opera, rec. J. Van Vloten et J. P. Land.
Hagae Comitum, 1882-83; ed. altera, 2b., 1895-6, tom.i. Reprinted here from
The Philosophy of Spinoza, translated and edited by George Stuart Fullerton,
2 enl. ed. New York, Henry Holt and Company, 1894.

192 BARUCH DE SPINOZA

Explanation. —I say rather conception than perception, be-
cause the word perception seems to indicate that the mind is
acted upon by the object; but conception seems to express an
action of the mind.

4. By adequate idea I mean an idea which, in so far as it is
considered in itself and without reference to an object, possesses
all the properties or intrinsic marks of a true idea.

Explanation. — I say intrinsic, to exclude the extrinsic mark,
namely, the agreement of the idea with its object.

5. Duration is indefinite continuance in existence.

Explanation. — I say indefinite, because it can in no wise be
limited by the nature itself of the existing thing, nor yet by the
efficient cause, which, to be sure, necessarily brings about the
existence of the thing, but does not sublate it.

6. By reality and perfection I mean the same thing.

7. By individual things I mean things that are finite and have
a determinate existence. If, however, several individuals so
unite in one action that all are conjointly the cause of the one
effect, I consider all these, in so far, as one individual thing.

Axioms

1. Man’s essence does not involve necessary existence; in
other words, in the order of nature, it equally well may or may
not come to pass that this or that man exists.

2. Man thinks.

3. Such modes of thinking as love, desire, or whatever else
comes under the head of emotion, do not arise unless there be
present in the same individual the idea of the thing loved,
desired, etc. But the idea may be present without any other
mode of thinking being present.

4. We perceive by sense that a certain body is affected in
many ways. ;

5. We do not feel or perceive any individual things except
bodies and modes of thinking.

Prop. 1. Thought is an attribute of God, that is, God is a think-
ing thing.

THE ETHICS 193

Proof. — Individual thoughts, or this and that thought, are
modes which express in a definite and determinate manner
God’s nature (I, 25, cor.). God therefore possesses (I, def. 5)
the attribute, the conception of which is involved in all indi-
vidual thoughts, and through which they are conceived. Hence,
thought is one of the infinite attributes of God, and it expresses
God’s eternal and infinite essence (I, def. 6): that is, God is a
thinking thing. Q. E. D.

Scholium. — This proposition may also be proved from the
fact that we can conceive an infinite thinking being. For the
more thoughts a thinking being is capable of having, the more
reality or perfection do we regard it as containing; a being,
then, that can think an infinity of things in an infinity of ways
is necessarily, by virtue of its thinking, infinite. Since, there-
fore, we conceive an infinite being by fixing attention upon
thought alone, thought is necessarily (I, defs. 4 and 6) one of the
infinite attributes of God, as I asserted.

Prop. 2. Extension is an attribute of God, that is, God is an
extended thing.

Proof. — This is proved like the preceding proposition.

Prop. 3. There is necessarily in God an idea, both of his own
essence, and of all those things which necessarily follow from his
essence.

Proof. — God can (1) think an infinity of things in an infinity
of ways, or (which is the same thing, I, 16) can form an idea of
his own essence, and of all those things which necessarily follow
from it. But everything that is within God’s power necessarily
is (I, 35). Therefore such an idea necessarily is, and (I, 15) it is
in God and nowhere else. Q. E. D.

Prop. 6. The modes of any attribute have God as their cause,
only in so far as he is considered under the attribute of which they
are modes, not in so far as he is considered under any other attri-
bute.

Proof. — Each attribute is conceived through itself independ-
ently of anything else (I, 10). The modes, then, of each attri-
bute involve the concept of their own attribute, but of no other;
therefore (I, axiom 4), they have as their cause God, only in so

194 BARUCH DE SPINOZA

far as he is considered under the attribute of which they are
modes, and not in so far as he is considered under any other
attribute. Q. E. D. 3

Corollary. — Hence it follows that the formal being of things,
which are not modes of thinking, does not follow from the divine
nature because this first knew things; but the objects of ideas
follow and are inferred from their attributes in the same manner,
and by the same necessity, as we have shown ideas to follow
from the attribute of thought.

Prop. 7. — The order and connection of ideas is the same as the
order and connection of things.

Proof. — The proof is evident from axiom 4, of Part I, forthe
idea of anything that is caused depends upon a knowledge of the
cause whose effect it is.

Corollary. — Hence it follows that God’s power of thinking
is equal to his realized power of acting. That is, whatever fol-
lows formally from God’s infinite nature follows also objectively
in God in the same order and with the same connection from
the idea of God.

Scholium. — Before going further we should recall to mind
this truth, which has been proved above, namely, that whatever
can be perceived by infinite intellect as constituting the essence
of substance belongs exclusively to the one substance, and con-
sequently that thinking substance and extended substance are
one and the same substance, apprehended now under this, now
under that attribute. So, also, a mode of extension and theidea
of that mode are one and the same thing, but expressed in two
ways; a truth which certain of the Hebrews appear to have seen
as if through a mist, in that they assert that God, the intellect
of God, and the things known by it, are one and the same. For
example, a circle existing in nature, and the idea, which also is
in God, of this existing circle, are one and the same thing, mani-
fested through different attributes; for this reason, whether we
conceive nature under the attribute of extension, or under that
of thought, or under any other attribute whatever, we shall find
there follows one and the same order, or one and the same con-
catenation of causes, that is, the same thing. I have said that

THE ETHICS 195

God is the cause of an idea; for instance, the idea of a circle,
merely in so far as he is a thinking thing, and of the circle,
merely in so far as he is an extended thing, just for the reason
that the formal being of the idea of a circle can only be per-
ceived through another mode of thinking, as its proximate
cause, that one in its turn through another, and so to infinity.
Thus, whenever we consider things as modes of thinking, we
must explain the whole order of nature, or concatenation of
causes, through the attribute of thought alone; and in so far
as we consider them as modes of extension, we must likewise
explain the whole order of nature solely through the attribute of
extension. So also in the case of the other attributes. Hence
God, since he consists of an infinity of attributes, is really the
cause of things as they are in themselves. I cannot explain this
more clearly at present.

Prop. 8. The ideas of individual things or modes which do not
exist must be comprehended in the infinite idea of God, in the same
way as the formal essences of individual things or modes are con-
tained in the attributes of God.

Proof. — This proposition is evident from the one preceding,
but it may be more clearly understood from the preceding
scholium.

Corollary. — Hence it follows that so long as individual things
do not exist, except in so far as they are comprehended in the
attributes of God, their objective being, that is, their ideas, do
not exist, except in so far as the infinite idea of God exists; and
when particular things are said to exist, not merely in so far as
they are comprehended in the attributes of God, but also in so
far as they are said to have a being in time, their ideas, too,
involve an existence, through which they are said to have a
being in time.

Prop. 10. Substantive being does not belong to the essence
of man, that is, substance does not constitute the essence of
man.

Proof. — Substantive being involves necessary existence
(I; 7). If, then, substantive being belongs to the essence of man,
granted substance, man would necessarily be granted (def. 2):

196 BARUCH DE SPINOZA

hence man would necessarily exist, which (axiom 1) is absurd.
Therefore, etc. Q. E. D.

Scholium. — This proposition is proved also by I, 5, which
maintains that there are not two substances of the same nature.
As, however, a number of men may exist, that which consti-
tutes the essence of man is not substantive being. This pro-
position is evident, moreover, from the other properties of
substance, to wit, that substance is in its nature infinite,
immutable, indivisible, etc.; as anyone may readily see.

Corollary. — Hence it follows that the essence of man con-
sists of certain modifications of God’s attributes. Substantive
being (by the preceding proposition) does not belong to the es-
sence of man. It is, therefore (I, 15), something which is in God,
and which without God can neither be nor be conceived, that is
(I, 25, cor.), a modification, or mode, which expresses God’s
nature in a definite and determinate manner.

Prop. 11. The first thing that constitutes the actual being of the
human mind is nothing else than the idea of some individual thing
actually existing.

Proof.—Man’s essence (by the corollary to the preceding propo-
sition) consists of certain modes of the attributes of God;
namely (axiom 2) of modes of thinking, in all of which (axiom 3)
an idea is prior by nature, and when this is present the other
modes (those, that is, to which the idea is prior by nature)
must be present in the same individual (by the same axiom).
Thus an idea is the first thing that constitutes the being of the
human mind. But it is not the idea of a non-existent thing, for
in that case (8, cor.) the idea itself could not be said to exist; it
is, then, the idea of a thing actually existing. Not, however, of
an infinite thing. For an infinite thing (I, 21 amd 22) must
always necessarily exist; but this is (axiom 1) absurd; there-
fore the first thing that constitutes the actual being of the
human mind is theidea of an individual thing actually existing.
ORE. D.

Corollary. — Hence it follows that the human mind is a part
of the infinite intellect of God. When, therefore, we say that
the human mind perceives this or that, we say merely that God,

THE ETHICS 197

not in so far as he is infinite, but in so far as he is manifested by
the nature of the human mind, that is, in so far as he consti-
tutes the essence of the human mind, has this or that idea; and
’ when we say that God has this or that idea, not merely in so far
as he constitutes the nature of the human mind, but in so far as
besides the human mind he has also the idea of another thing,
we say the human mind perceives the thing partially or inade-
quately.

Scholium. — Here, doubtless, my readers will stick, and will
contrive to find many objections which will cause delay. For
this reason I beg them to proceed with me slowly, and not to
pass judgment on these matters until they have read over the
whole.

Prop. 12. Whatever takes place in the object of the idea that
constitutes the human mind must be perceived by the human mind;
that is, an idea of that thing is necessarily in the mind. In other
words, if the object of the idea that constitutes the human mind be a
body, nothing can take place in that body without being perceived
by the mind.

Proof. — Whatever takes place in the object of any idea, the
knowledge of it is necessarily in God (9, cor.), in so far as he is
considered as affected by the idea of that object; that is (rz), in
so far as he constitutes the mind of anything. Whatever, then,
takes place in the object of the idea that constitutes the human
mind, the knowledge of it is necessarily in God, in so far as he
constitutes the nature of the human mind, that is (11, cor.), the
knowledge of it is necessarily in the mind, or the mind perceives
it. OF ESD:

Scholium. — This proposition is evident also, and more
clearly understood, from 7, schol., which see.

Prop. 13. The object of theidea that constitutes the human mind
is the body, that is, a definite mode of extension actually existing,
and nothing else.

Proof. — If the body were not the object of the human mind,
the ideas of the modifications of the body would not be in God
(9, cor.), in so far as he constituted our mind, but in so far as he
constituted the mind of something else; that is (11, cor.), the

198 BARUCH ‘DE SPINOZA

ideas of the modifications of the body would not be in our
mind. But (axiom 4) we have ideas of the modifications of the
body. Therefore the object of the idea that constitutes the
human mind is the body, and that (11) is a body actually exist-
ing. Again, if, besides the body, there was still another object
of the mind, then, since nothing (I, 36) exists from which some
effect does not follow, there would (11) necessarily have to be
in our mind the idea of some effect of this object. But (axiom 5) —
there is no such idea. Therefore the object of our mind is the
existing body and nothing else. Q. E. D.

Corollary. — Hence it follows that man consists of mind and
body, and that the human body exists, just as we perceive it.

Scholium. — From this we comprehend, not merely that the
human mind is united to the body, but also what is meant by
the union of mind and body. No one, however, can compre-
hend this adequately or distinctly, unless he first gain an ade-
quate knowledge of thenature of our body. What I have proved
so far have been very general truths, which do not apply more
to men than to all other individual things, which are all, though
in different degrees, animated. For of everything there is°
necessarily an idea in God, of which God is the cause, just as
there is an idea of the human body; hence, whatever I have said
of the idea of the human body must necessarily be said of the
idea of everything. Yet we cannot deny that ideas differ among
themselves as do their objects, and that one is more excellent
than another, and contains more reality, just as the object of
the one is more excellent than the object of the other, and con-
tains more reality. Therefore, in order to determine in what the
human mind differs from other ideas, and in what it excels the
others, we must gain a knowledge, as I have said, of the nature
of its object, that is, of the human body. This, however, I can-
not here treat of, nor is it necessary for what I wish to prove.
Iwill only make the general statement that, in proportion as
any body is more capable than the rest of acting or being acted
upon in many ways at the same time, its mind is more capable
than the rest of having many perceptions at the same time;
and the more the actions of a body depend upon itself alone,

THE ETHICS 199

and the less other bodies contribute to its action, the more capa-
ble is its mind of distinct comprehension. We may thus discern
the superiority of one mind over others, and we may see the
reason why we have only a very confused knowledge of our
bodys) as

Postulates

1. The human body is composed of very many individuals of
different natures, each one of which is highly composite.

2. Of the individuals which compose the human body, some
are fluid, some soft, and some hard.

3. The individuals which compose the human body, and,
consequently, the human body itself, are affected in very many
ways by external bodies.

4. The human body needs, for its conservation, very many
other bodies, by which it is continually, as it were, born
anew.

5. When a fluid part of the human body is determined by an
external body to impinge often upon a soft part, it changes the
plane of the latter, and imprints upon it certain traces, as it
were, of the impelling external body.

6. The human body can move external bodies in very many
ways, and arrange them in very many ways.

Prop. 14. The human mind is capable of having very many
perceptions, and the more capable, the greater the number of ways
in which its body can be disposed.

Proof. — The human body (postulates 3 and 6) is affected in
very many ways by external bodies, and is adapted to affect
external bodies in very many ways. But (12) the human mind
must perceive whatever takes place in the human body. There-
fore, the human mind is capable of having very many percep-
tions, and the more capable, etc. Q. E. D.

Prop. 15. The idea, which constitutes the essential being of the
human mind, is not simple, but composed of very many ideas.

Proof. — The idea, which constitutes the essential being of
the human mind, is the idea of the body (13), and this (postu-
late 1) is composed of many highly composite individuals. But

200 BARUCH DE SPINOZA

there is necessarily in God (8, cor.) an idea of each of the indi-
viduals which compose the body. Therefore (7) the idea of the
human body is composed of these many ideas of the component
parts. Q. E. D.

Prop. 16. The idea of any mode, in which the human body is
affected by external bodies, must involve both the nature of the
human body and the nature of the external body.

Proof. — All the modes, in which any body is affected, are a
consequence both of the nature of the body affected, and the
nature of the body affecting it (axiom 1, after the cor. to lemma 3).
Hence their idea (I, axiom 4) necessarily involves the nature of
both bodies. Consequently, the idea of any mode, in which the
human body is affected by an external body, involves the nature
of the human body and of the external body. Q. E. D.

Corollary 1. — Hence it follows, in the first place, that the
human mind perceives the nature of very many bodies along
with the nature of its own body.

Corollary 2. — And it follows, in the second place, that the
ideas which we have of external bodies indicate rather the con-
stitution of our own body than the nature of external bodies;
as I have explained with many illustrations in the Appendix to
Part I.

Prop. 17. If the human body is affected in a manner which
involves the nature of any external body, the human mind will re-
gard this external body as actually existing, or as present to it, until
the body is affected with some modification which excludes the exist-
ence or presence of this body.

Proof. — This is evident. For as long as the human body is
thus affected, the human mind (12) will contemplate this modi-
fication of the body; in other words (by the preceding proposi-
tion), will have the idea of a mode actually existing, which in-
volves the nature of an external body; that is, an idea that does
not exclude the existence or presence of the nature of the
external body, but affirms it. Therefore the mind (cor. 1 to the
preceding proposition) will regard an external body as actually
existing, or as present, until it is affected, etc. Q. E. D.

Corollary. — The mind can contemplate, as if they were

THE ETHICS 201

present, external bodies by which the human body has once
been affected, although they do not exist and are not present.
Scholium. — Thus we see how it can be that we regard as
present things that do not exist, as often happens. It is possible
that this is brought about by other causes, but it is here suffi-
cient that I have shown one by which I can explain the thing as
well as if I had explained it by its true cause. Nevertheless I do
not think I am far wrong, since all the postulates I have as-
sumed contain scarcely anything not in harmony with expe-
rience, and experience we may not doubt, after we have shown
that the human body exists just as we perceive it (13, cor.).
Besides (from the preceding cor., and 16, cor. 2) we clearly com-
prehend the difference between the idea, for instance, of Peter,
which constitutes the essence of the mind of Peter, and the idea
of the same Peter, which is in another man, say in Paul. The
former directly expresses the essence of Peter’s body, nor does
it involve existence, except so long as Peter exists; the latter, on
the other hand, indicates rather the condition of Paul’s body
than the nature of Peter; and, therefore, while that condition
of Paul’s body endures, Paul’s mind will regard Peter as present,
even if he does not exist. Further, to keep to the usual phrase-
ology, we will call the modifications of the human body, the
ideas of which represent external bodies as present to us, images
of things, although they do not reproduce the shapes of things.
When the mind contemplates bodies in this way, we will speak
of it as imagining. And here, that I may begin to show what
error is, I would have you note that acts of imagination, in
themselves considered, contain no error; that is, that the mind
does not err from the mere fact that it imagines, but only in so
far as it is considered as lacking the idea, which excludes the
existence of the things it imagines as present. For if the mind,
‘when imagining things non-existent as present, knew that these
things did not really exist, surely it would ascribe this power of
imagination to a virtue in its nature, and not toa defect, espe-
cially if this faculty of imagining depended solely upon its
nature, that is (I, def. 7), if this mental faculty were free.
Prop. 18. If the human body has once been affected simulta-

202 BARUCH DE SPINOZA’

neously by two or more bodies, when the mind after that imagines
any one of them it will forthwith call to remembrance also the
others. :

Proof. — The cause of the mind’s imagining any body is (by
the preceding corollary), that the human body is affected and
disposed by the traces of an external body in the same way as it
was affected when certain of its parts were impelled by that
external body; but (by hypothesis) the body was then so disposed
that the mind imagined two bodies at the same time; it will
therefore now, also, imagine two at the same time; and when
the mind imagines either, it will forthwith recollect the other.
Q. E. D.

Scholium. — From this we clearly comprehend what memory
is. It is nothing but a certain concatenation of ideas, involving
the nature of things outside of the human body, which arises in
the mind according to the order and concatenation of the modi-
fications of the human body. I say, in the first place, that itisa
concatenation of those ideas only that involve the nature of
things outside of the human body, not of the ideas that express
the nature of those things; for these ideas are really (16) ideas
of the modifications of the human body, which involve both its
nature and that of external bodies. I say, in the second place,
that this concatenation follows the order and concatenation of
the modifications of the human body, to distinguish it from the
concatenation of ideas which follows the order of the under-
standing, whereby the mind perceives things through their first
causes, and which is the same in all men. From this, further-
more, we clearly understand why the mind from the thought of
one thing immediately passes to the thought of another which
bears no resemblance to the former. For example, from the
thought of the word pomum (apple) a Roman passes straight-
way to the thought of the fruit, which bears no resemblance to
that articulate sound, and has nothing in common with it,
except that the body of the same man has often been affected
by these two; that is, the man hasoften heard the word pomum
while he saw this fruit. Thus each one passes from one thought
to another, according as custom has ordered the images of

THE. ETHICS 203

things in his body. A soldier, for instance, who sees in the sand
the tracks of a horse, passes at once from the thought of the
horse to the thought of its rider, and from that to the thought
of war, etc.; while a rustic passes from the thought of a horse
to the thought of a plow, a field, etc. Thus each one, according
as he has been accustomed to join and connect the images
of things in this or that way, passes from a given thought to
this thought or to that.

Prop. 19. The human mind does not come to a knowledge of the
human body itself, or know that it exists, except through the ideas of
the modifications by which the body is affected.

Proof. — The human mind is the idea or knowledge of the
human body (13), which (9) is in God, in so far as he is consid-
ered as affected by the idea of another individual thing. Or
rather, since (postulate 4) the human body needs many bodies,
by which it is continually born anew, as it were; and.since the
order and connection of ideas is (7) the same as the order and
connection of causes; this idea is in God, in so far as he is con-
sidered as affected by the ideas of many individual things.
Therefore God has an idea of the human body, or knows the
human body, in so far as he is affected by many other ideas; and
not in so far as he constitutes the nature of the human mind;
that is (11, cor.), the human mind does not know the human
body. But the ideas of the modifications of the body are in
God, in so far as he constitutes the nature of the human mind;
that is, the human mind perceives these same modifications
(x2), and consequently (16) perceives the human body itself,
and that (17) as really existing. Therefore, only in so far does
the human mind perceive the human body. Q. E. D.

Prop. 20. There is in God also an idea or knowledge of the
human mind, which follows in God in the same way, and 1s referred
to God in the same way, as the idea or knowledge of the human body.

Proof. — Thought is an attribute of God (r); therefore (3)
there must necessarily bein God an idea of it and of all its modi-
fications, and consequently (11) of the human mind also. Inthe
second place, it does not follow that this idea or knowledge of
the mind is in God in so far as he is infinite, but in so far as he is

204 BARUCH DE SPINOZA

affected by another idea of an individual thing (9). But the
order and connection of ideas is the same as the order and con-
nection of causes (7). Therefore this idea or knowledge of the
mind follows in God, and is referred to God, in the same way as
the idea or knowledge of the body. Q. E. D.

Prop. 21. This idea of the mind is united to the mind in the
same way as the mind itself is united to the body.

Proof.— We have proved that the mind is united to the body,
from the fact that the body is the object of the mind (12 and 13);
hence, for the same reason, the idea of the mind must be united
with its object, that is, with the mind itself, in the same way as
the mind is united with the body. Q. E. D.

Scholium. — This proposition is much more clearly compre-
hended from what was said in the scholium to prop. 7 of this
Part. I there showed that the idea of the body and the body,
that is (13), the mind and the body, are one and the same indi-
vidual, conceived now under the attribute of thought, now
under that of extension. Hence the idea of the mind and the
mind itself are one and the same thing, conceived under one and
the same attribute, namely, that of thought. The idea of the
mind, I say, and the mind itself follow in God, by the same
necessity, from the same power of thinking. For, in truth, the
idea of the mind — that is, the idea of an idea — is nothing else
than the essence of an idea, in so far as this is considered as a
mode of thinking, and without relation to its object. For when
any one knows a thing, from that very fact he knows that he
knows it, and at the same time knows that he knows that he
knows it, and so to infinity. But of this more hereafter.

Prop. 22. The human mind perceives, not merely the modifica-
tions of the body, but also the ideas of these modifications.

Proof. — The ideas of the ideas of modifications follow in
God in the same way, and are referred to God in the same way,
as the ideas of the modifications. This is proved as is prop. 20.
But the ideas of the modifications of the body are in the human
mind (12), that is (11, cor.), they are in God, in so far as he con-
stitutes the essence of the human mind. Hence, the ideas of
these ideas are in God, in so far as he has a knowledge, or idea,

THE ETHICS 205

of the human mind; that is (21), they are in the human mind
itself, which, consequently, perceives not merely the modifi-
cations of the body, but also the ideas of these. Q. E. D.

Prop. 23. The mind only knows itself in so far as it perceives
the ideas of the modifications of the body.

Proof.— The idea or knowledge of the mind (20) follows in
God in the same way, and is referred to God in the same way,
as the idea or knowledge of the body. But since (19) the human
mind does not know the body itself; that is (11, cor.), since the
knowledge of the human body is not referred to God, in so far
as he constitutes the nature of the human mind; neither is the
knowledge of the mind referred to God, in so far as he consti-
tutes the essence of the human mind; and hence (11, cor.), in so
far the human mind does not know itself. In the second place, ©
the ideas of the modifications which the human body receives
involve the nature of the human body itself (16), that is (13),
_ they agree with the nature of the mind; hence the knowledge of
these ideas necessarily involves the knowledge of the mind.
But (by the preceding proposition) the knowledge of these ideas
is in the human mind itself. Therefore only in so far does the
human mind know itself. Q. E. D.

Prop. 48. There is in the mind no absolute or free will; but the
mind is determined to this or that volition by a cause, which has
. utself been determined by another cause, this again by another, and
so to infinity.

Proof. — The mind is a definite and determinate mode of
thinking (11), therefore (I, 17, cor. 2) it cannot be a free cause
of its own actions, that is, it cannot have an absolute power to
will or not to will. It must be determined to this or that volition
(I, 28) by a cause, which has itself been determined by another
cause, this again by another, etc. Q. E. D.

Scholium. — In the same way it is proved that there is in
the mind no absolute power of knowing, desiring, loving, etc.
Whence it follows, these and similar faculties are either abso-
lutely fictitious, or only metaphysical entities — universals —
that we are accustomed to form from individuals. Thus, under-
standing and will are related to this or that idea and to this or

206 BARUCH DE SPINOZA

that volition, as lapidity is related to this or that stone, or man
to Peter or Paul. Why men think themselves free I have ex-
plained in the Appendix to Part I. Before I go further, it should
be noted that I mean by will, not desire, but the faculty of
affirming and denying; I mean, I say, the faculty by which the
mind affirms or denies what is true or false, and not the desire
through which the mind seeks or avoids things. But having
proved these faculties to be universal notions, which are not
distinguished from the individuals of which we form them, it
remains to inquire whether the volitions themselves are any-
thing but just the ideas of things. It remains, I say, to inquire
whether there is in the mind any other affrmation or negation
than that involved in an idea, in that it is an idea. On this point
see the following proposition, and, to avoid confounding ideas
with pictures, see, also, def. 3 of this Part. For by ideas I do not
mean such images as are formed at the back of the eye, or, if you
please, in the middle of the brain, but the conceptions of
thought.

Prop. 49. There is in the mind no volition, that is, no affirma-
tion or negation, except that involved in an idea in that it is an idea.

Proof. — There is in the mind (by the preceding proposition)
no absolute power to will or not to will, but only particular voli-
tions, namely, this or that affirmation, and this or that negation.
Let us conceive, therefore, some particular volition — for in-
stance, the mode of thinking by which the mind affirms the
three angles of a triangle to be equal to two right angles. This
affirmation involves the conception or idea of a triangle, that is,
it cannot be conceived without the idea of a triangle; for it is
the same thing whether I say, A must involve the conception B,
or A cannot be conceived without B. In the second place, this
affirmation (axiom 3), without the idea of a triangle, cannot be.
Therefore this affirmation cannot, without the idea of a trian-
gle, either be or be conceived. Moreover, this idea of a triangle
must involve this same affirmation of the equality of its three
angles to two right angles. Therefore, conversely, this idea of a
triangle can neither be nor be conceived without this affrma-
tion. Hence (def. 2) this affirmation belongs to the essence of

THE ETHICS 207

the idea of a triangle, and is nothing but that idea. What I have
said of this volition is (since I took it at random) to be said also
of every volition, namely, that it is nothing else than an idea.
Q.E.D.

Corollary. — Will and understanding are one and the same
thing.

Proof.— Will and understanding are nothing but particular
volitions and ideas (48 and schol.). But a particular volition
and a particular idea are (by the preceding proposition) one and
the same thing. Therefore will and understanding are one and
the same thing. Q. E. D.

GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ
(1646-1716)

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS

Translated from the French* by
GEORGE MARTIN DUNCAN

XI. A New System or NATURE, AND OF THE INTERACTION
OF SUBSTANCES, AS WELL AS OF THE UNION WHICH EX-
ISTS BETWEEN THE SOUL AND THE Bopy. 1695

1. I CONCEIVED this system many years ago and communi-
cated. it to some learned men, and in particular to one of the
greatest theologians and philosophers of our time, who, having
been informed of some of my opinions by a very distinguished
person, had found them highly paradoxical. When, however,
he had received my explanations, he withdrew his condemna-
tion in the most generous and edifying manner; and, having
approved a part of my propositions, he ceased censuring the
others with which he was not yet in accord. Since that time I
have continued my meditations as far as opportunity has per-
mitted, in order to give to the public only thoroughly examined
views, and I have also tried to answer the objections made
against my essays in dynamics, which are related to the
former. Finally, as a number of persons have desired to see my
opinions more clearly explained, I have ventured to publish
these meditations although they are not at all popular nor fit to
be enjoyed by every sort of mind. I have been led to do this
principally in order that I might profit by the judgments of
those who are learned in these matters, inasmuch as it would be
too inconvenient to seek and challenge separately those who

* From The Philosophical Works of Leibnitz, translated by G. M. Duncan,
New Haven, 1890.

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 209

would be disposed to give the instructions which I shall always
be glad to receive, provided the love of truth appears in them
rather than passion for opinions already held.

2. Although I am one of those who have worked very hard at
mathematics I have not since my youth ceased to meditate on
philosophy, for it always seemed to me that there was a way to
establish in it, by clear demonstrations, something stable. I had
penetrated well into the territory of the scholastics when math-
ematics and modern authors induced me while yet young to
withdraw from it. Their fine ways of explaining nature mechan-
ically charmed me; and, with reason, I scorned the method of
those who employ only forms or faculties, by which nothing is
learned. But afterwards, when I tried to search into the prin-
ciples of mechanics to find proof of the laws of nature which
experience made known, I perceived that the mere considera-
tion of an extended mass did not suffice and that it was neces-
sary to employ in addition the notion of force, which is very
easily understood although it belongs to the province of meta-
physics. It seemed to me also that the opinion of those who
transform or degrade animals into simple machines, not with-
standing its seeming possibility, is contrary to appearances and
even opposed to the order of things.

3. In the beginning, when I had freed myself from the yoke
of Aristotle, I occupied myself with the consideration of the
void and atoms, for this is what best fills the imagination; but
after many meditations I perceived that it is impossible to find
the principles of ‘rue unity in mere matter, or in that which is
only passive, because there everything is but a collection or
mass of parts ad infinitum. Now, multiplicity cannot have its
reality except from real unities, which originate otherwise and
are entirely different things from the points of which it is cer-
tain the continuum could not be composed. Therefore, in order
to find these real unities I was compelled to resort to a formal
atom, since a material being could not be at the same time ma-
terial and perfectly indivisible, or in other words, endowed with
true unity. It became necessary, therefore, to recall and, as it
were, reinstate the substantial forms, so descried now-a-days,

210 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ

but in a way to render them intelligible, and distinguish the use
which ought to be made of them from the abuse which had
befallen them. I found then that their nature is force and that
from this something analogous to sensation and desire results,
and that therefore it was necessary to conceive them similarly
to the idea which we have of souls. But as the soul ought not to
be employed to explain the details of the economy of the animal
body, likewise I judged that it was not necessary to employ
these forms to explain particular problems in nature although
they are necessary in order to establish true general principles.
Aristotle calls them the first entelechies. I call them, perhaps
more intelligibly, primitive forces which contain in themselves
not only the act or complement of possibility, but also an
original activity.

4. I saw that these forms and these souls ought to be indivisi-
ble, just as much as our mind, as in truth I remembered was the
opinion of St. Thomas in regard to the souls of brutes. But this
innovation renewed the great difficulties in respect to the origin
and duration of souls and of forms. For every simple substance
which has true unity cannot begin or end except by miracle; it
follows, therefore, that it cannot begin except by creation, nor
end except by annihilation. Therefore, with the exception of
the souls which God might still be pleased to create expressly,
I was obliged to recognize that the constitutive forms of sub-
stances must have been created with the world, and that they
must exist always. Certain scholastics, like Albertus Magnus
and John Bacon, had also foreseen a part of the truth as to their
origin. And the matter ought not to appear at all extraordinary
for only the same duration which the Gassendists accord their
atoms is given to these forms.

5. I was of the opinion, nevertheless, that neither spirits nor
the rational soul, which belong to a superior order and have
incomparably more perfection than these forms implanted in
matter which in my opinion are found everywhere — being in
comparison with them, like little gods made in the image of God
and having within them some rays of the light of divinity, ought
to be mixed up indifferently or confounded with other forms or

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 211

souls. This is why God governs spirits as a prince governs his
subjects, and even as a father cares for his children; while he
disposes of the other substances as an engineer manipulates his
machines. Thus spirits have peculiar laws which place them
above the changes which matter undergoes, and indeed it may
be said that all other things are made only for them, the changes
even being adapted to the felicity of the good and the punish-
ment of the bad.

6. However, to return to ordinary forms or to material souls
[ames brutes], the duration which must be attributed to them in
place of that which has been attributed to atoms, might raise
the question as to whether they pass from body to body, which
would be metempsychosis — very like the belief of certain phi-
losophers in the transmission of motion and of the species. But
this fancy is very far removed from the nature of things. There
is no such passage; and here it is that the transformations of
Swammerdam, Malpighi and Leewenhoeck, who are the best
observers of our time, have come to my aid and have made me
admit more easily that the animal and every other organized
substance does not at all begin when we think it does, and that
its apparent generation is only a development and a sort of
augmentation. Also I have noticed that the author of the
Search after Truth [i.e., Malebranche], Rigis, Hartsoeker and
other able men, have not been far removed from this opinion.

7. But the most important question of all still remained:
What do these souls or these forms become after the death of
the animal or after the destruction of the individual of the or-
ganized substance? It is this question which is most embarrass-
ing, all the more so as it seems unreasonable that souls should
remain uselessly in a chaos of confused matter. This obliged
me finally to believe that there was only one reasonable opinion
to hold, namely, that not only the soul but also the animal itself
and its organic machine were preserved, although the destruc-
tion of its gross parts had rendered it so small as to escape our
senses now justas much as it did before it was born. Also there is
no person who can accurately note the true time of death, which
can be considered for a long time solely as a suspension of vis-

212 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ

ible actions, and indeed is never anything else in mere animals;
witness the resuscitation of drowned flies after being buried
under pulverized chalk, and other similar examples, which
make it sufficiently clear that there would be many more resus-
citations and of far more intricacy if men were in condition to
set the machine going again. And apparently it was of some-
thing of this sort that the great Democritus, atomist as he was,
spoke, although Pliny makes sport of the idea. It is then na-
tural that the animal having, as people of great penetration
begin to recognize, been always living and organized, should so
remain always. And since, therefore, there is no first birth nor
entirely new generation of the animal, it follows that there will
be no final extinction nor complete death taken in its metaphy-
sical rigor, and that in consequence instead of the transmigra-
tion of souls there is only a transformation of one and the same
animal, according as its organs are folded differently and more
or less developed.

8. Nevertheless, rational souls follow very much higher laws
and are exempt from all that could make them lose the quality
of being citizens in the society of spirits, God having planned
for them so well, that all the changes in matter cannot make
them lose the moral qualities of their personality. And it can be
said that everything tends to the perfection not only of the uni-
verse in general but also of those creatures in particular who
are destined to such a measure of happiness that the universe
finds itself interested therein, by virtue of the divine goodness
which communicates itself to each one, according as sovereign
wisdom permits.

g. As regards the ordinary body of animals and of other cor-
poreal substances, the complete extinction of which has up to
this time been believed in, and the changes of which depend
rather upon mechanical rules than upon moral laws, I remarked
with pleasure that the author of the book On Diet, which is at-
tributed to Hippocrates, had foreseen something of the truth
when he said in express terms that animals are not born and do
not die, and that the things which are supposed to begin and to
perish only appear and disappear. This was also the opinion of

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 213

Parmenides and of Melissus, according to Aristotle, for these
ancients were more profound than is thought.

to. I am the best disposed in the world to do justice to the
moderns; nevertheless I think they have carried reform too far,
for instance, in confounding natural things with artificial, for
the reason that they have not had sufficiently high ideas of the
majesty of nature. They conceive that the difference between
its machines and ours is only that of large to small. This caused
a very able man, author of Conversations on the Plurality of
Worlds, to say recently that in regarding nature close at hand
it is found less admirable than had been believed, being only
like the workshop of an artisan. I believe that this does not
give a worthy idea of it and that only our system can finally
make men realize the true and immense distance which there is
between the most trifling productions and mechanisms of the
divine wisdom and the greatest masterpieces of the art of a
finite mind, this difference consisting not merely in degree but
also in kind. It must then be known that the machines of na-
ture have a truly infinite number of organs and that they are so
well protected and so proof against all accidents that it is not
possible to destroy them. A natural machine remains a ma-
chine even to its least parts and, what is more, it remains
always the same machine it has been, being only transformed
by the different folds it receives, and sometimes expanded,
sometimes compressed and, as it were, concentrated when be-
lieved to be lost.

11. Farther, by means of the soul or of form there arises a
true unity which answers to what we call the J in us, that which
could take place neither in the machines of art nor in the simple
mass of matter however well organized it might be, which can
only be considered as an army, or as a herd of cattle, or as a
pond full of fish, or as a watch composed of springs and wheels.
Nevertheless, if there were not real substantial unities there
would be nothing substantial or real in the mass. It was this
which forced Cordemoi to abandon Descartes, and to embrace
Democritus’ doctrine of the Atoms, in order to find a true
unity. But atoms of maiter are contrary to reason, leaving out

214 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ

of account the proof that they are made up of parts, for the in-
vincible attachment of one part to another (if such a thing could
be conceived or with reason supposed) would not at all destroy
their diversity. Only atoms of substance, i.e., unities which are
real and absolutely destitute of parts, are sources of actions and
the absolute first principles of the composition of things, and,
as it were, the last elements of the analysis of substances. They
might be called metaphysical points; they possess a certain
vitality and a kind of perception, and mathematical points are
their points of view to express the universe. But when corporeal
substances are compressed all their organs together form only
physical point to our sight. Thus physical points are only indi-
visible in appearance; mathematical points are so in reality but
they are merely modalities; only metaphysical points or those
of substance (constituted by forms or souls) are exact and real,
and without them there would be nothing real, for without true
unities there could not be multiplicity.

12. After having established these proportions I thought
myself entering into port, but when I came to meditate on the
union of the soul with the body I was as if cast back into the
open sea. For I found no way of explaining how the body can
cause anything to pass into the soul, or vice versa; nor how one
substance can communicate with another created substance.
Descartes gave up the attempt on that point, as far as can be
learned from his writings, but his disciples seeing that the com-
mon view was inconceivable, were of the opinion that we per-
ceive the qualities of bodies because God causes thoughts to
arise in the soul on the occasion of movements of matter; and
when the soul wished to move the body in its turn they judged
that it was God who moved it for the soul. And as the com-
munication of motions again seemed to them inconceivable,
they believed that God gave motion to a body on the occasion
of the motion of another body. This is what they call the sys-
tem of Occasional Causes which has been much in vogue on
account of the beautiful remarks of the author of the Search
after Truth.

13. It must be confessed that the difficulty has been well

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 215

penetrated when the not-possible is stated, but it does not ap-
pear that it is done away with by explaining what actually
takes place. It is indeed true that there is no real influence of
one created substance upon another, speaking in metaphysical
strictness, and that all things with all their realities are continu-
ally produced by the power of God; but in resolving problems
it is not enough to employ a general cause and to call in‘what is
called the Deus ex Machina. For when this is done and there
is no other explanation which can be drawn from secondary
causes, it is, properly, having recourse to miracle. In philoso-
phy it is necessary to try to give reasons by making known in
what way things are done by divine wisdom, in conformity to
the idea of the subject concerned.

14. Being then obliged to admit that it is not possible for the
soul or any true substance to receive any influence from with-
out, if it be not by the divine omnipotence I was led insensibly
to an opinion which surprised me but which appears inevitable
and which has in truth great advantages and many beauties. It
is this: it must then be said that God created the soul, or every
other real unity, in the first place in such a way that everything
with it comes into existence from its own substance through
perfect spontaneity as regards itself and in perfect harmony with
objects outside itself. And that thus our internal feelings (i.e.,
those within the soul itself and not in the brain or finer parts of
the body), being only phenomena consequent upon external
objects or true appearances, and like well-ordered dreams, it is
necessary that these internal perceptions within the soul itself
come to it by its own proper original constitution, i.e., by the
representative nature (capable of expressing beings outside
itself by relation to its organs), which has been given it at its
creation and which constitutes its individual character. This
brings it about that each of these substances in its own way and
according to a certain point of view, represents exactly the
entire universe, and perceptions or impressions of external
things reach the soul at the proper point in virtue of its own
laws, as if it were in a world apart, and as if there existed no-
thing but God and itself (to make use of the manner of speaking

216 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ

of a certain person of great elevation of mind, whose piety is
well known); there is also perfect harmony among all these sub-
stances, producing the same effects as if they communicated
with each other by a transmission of kinds or of qualities, as
philosophers generally suppose.

Farther, the organized mass, within which is the point of
view of the soul, being expressed more nearly by it, finds itself
reciprocally ready to act of dtself, following the laws of cor-
poreal machines, at the moment when the soul wills it, without
either one troubling the laws of the other, the nerves and the
blood having just at that time received the impulse which is
necessary in order to make them respond to the passions and
perceptions of the soul; it is this mutual relationship, regulated
beforehand in every substance of the universe, which produces
what we call their znter-communication and alone constitutes the
union between the soul and body. And we may understand from
this how the soul has its seat in the body by an immediate pre-
sence which could not be greater, for it is there as the unit is in
the complex of units, which is the multitude.

15. This hypothesis is very possible. For why could not God
give to a substance in the beginning a nature or internal force
which could produce in it to order (as in a spiritual or formal
automaton, but free here since it has reason to its share), all that
which should happen to it; that is to say all the appearances or
expressions it should have, and that without the aid of any
creature? All the more as the nature of the substance neces-
sarily demands and essentially includes a progress or change,
without which it would not have power to act. And this nature
of the soul, being representative, in a very exact (although
more or less distinct) manner, of the universe, the series of re-
presentations which the soul will produce for itself will naturally
correspond to the series of changes in the universe itself; as, in
turn, the body has also been accommodated to the soul, for the
encounters where it is conceived as acting from without. This is
the more reasonable as bodies are only made for those spirits
which are capable of entering into communion with God and of
celebrating His glory. Thus from the moment the possibility of

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 207

this hypothesis of harmonies is perceived, we perceive also that it
is the most reasonable and that it gives a marvellous idea of the
harmony of the universe and of the perfection of the works of
God.

16. This great advantage is also found in it, that instead of
saying that we are FREE only in appearance and in a way prac-
tically sufficient, as many persons of ability have believed, it
must rather be said that we are only enchained in appearance,
and that according to the strictness of metaphysical expressions
we are in a state of perfect independence as respects the influ-
ence of all other creatures. This again places in a marvellous
light the zmmortality of the soul and the always uniform pre-
servation of our individuality, regulated perfectly by its own
nature beyond the risk of all accidents from without, whatever
appearance there may be to the contrary. Never has a system
so clearly proved our high standing. Every spirit, being like a
separate world sufficient to itself, independent of every other
creature, enclosing the infinite, expressing the universe, is as
durable, as stable and as absolute as the universe of creatures
itself. Therefore we ought always to appear in it in the way
best fitted to contribute to the perfection of the society of all
spirits, which makes their moral union in the city of God.
Here is found also a new proof of the existence of God, which is
one of surprising clearness. For this perfect harmony of so
many substances which have no communication with each
other, can only come from a common cause.

17. Besides all these advantages which render this system
commendable, it can also be said that this is more than an
hypothesis, since it hardly seems possible to explain the facts in
any other intelligible manner, and since several great difficulties
which have exercised the mind up to this time, seem to disap-
pear of themselves as soon as this system is well understood.
The customary ways of speaking can still be retained. For we
can say that the substance, the disposition of which explains
the changes in others in an intelligible manner (in this respect,
that it may be supposed that the others have been in this point
adapted to it since the beginning, according to the order of the

218 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ

decrees of God), is the one which must be conceived of as acting
upon the others. Also the action of one substance upon another
is not the emission or transfer of an entity as is commonly be-
lieved, and cannot be understood reasonably except in the way
which I have just mentioned. It is true that we can easily con-
ceive in matter both emissions and receptions of parts, by
means of which we are right in explaining mechanically all the
phenomena of physics; but as the material mass is not a sub-
stance it is apparent that action as regards substance itself can
only be what I have just said.

18. These considerations, however metaphysical they may
appear, have yet a marvellous use in physics in establishing the
laws of motion, as our Dynamics can make clear. For it can be
said that in the collision of bodies, each one suffers only by rea-
son of its own elasticity, because of the motion which is already
in it. And as to absolute motion, it can in no way be deter-
mined mathematically, since everything terminates in rela-
tions; therefore there is always a perfect equality of hypotheses,
as in astronomy, so that whatever number of bodies may be
taken it is arbitrary to assign repose or a certain degree of veloc-
ity to any one that may be chosen, without being refuted by the
phenomena of straight, circular and composite motion. Never-
theless it is reasonable to attribute to bodies real movements,
according to the supposition which explains phenomena in the
most intelligible manner, since this description is in conformity
to the idea of action which I have just established.

XIV. SEcOoND EXPLANATION OF THE SYSTEM OF THE Com—
MUNICATION BETWEEN SUBSTANCES. 1696

By your [S. Foucher] reflections, sir, I see clearly that the
thought which one of my friends has published in the Journal
de Paris has need of explanation.

You do not understand, you say, how I could prove that
which I advanced concerning the communication or harmony
of two substances so different as the soul and the body. It is
true that I believe that I have found the means of doing so, and —

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 219

this is how I propose to satisfy you. Imagine two clocks or
watches which agree perfectly. Now, this may take place in
three ways. The first consists in a mutual influence; the second
is to have a skillful workman attached to them who regulates
them and keeps them always in accord; the third is to construct
these two clocks with so much art and accuracy as to assure their
future harmony. Put now the soul and the body in place of
these two clocks; their accordance may be brought about by
one of these three ways. The way of influence is that of common
philosophy, but as we cannot conceive of material particles
which may pass from one of these substances into the other,
this view must be abandoned. The way of the continual assist-
ance of the creator is that of the system of occasional causes;
but I hold that this is to make a Deus ex Machina intervene ina
‘natural and ordinary matter, in which, according to reason, he
ought not to codperate except in the way in which he does in all
other natural things. Thus there remains only my hypothesis;
that is, the way of harmony. From the beginning God has
made each of these two substances of such a nature that
merely by following its own peculiar laws, received with its
being, it nevertheless accords with the other, just as if there
were a mutual influence or as if God always put his hand thereto
in addition to his general codperation. After this I have no
need of proving anything, unless you wish to require me to
prove that God is sufficiently skillful to.make use of this pre-
venient contrivance, examples of which we see even among
men. Now, taking for granted that he can do it, you easily see
that this is the way most beautiful and most worthy of him.
You suspected that my explanation would be opposed to the
very different idea which we have of the mind and of the body;
but you will presently clearly see that no one has better estab-
lished their independence. For while it has been necessary to
explain their communication by a kind of miracle, occasion has
always been given to many people to fear that the distinction
between the body and the soul was not as real as was believed,
since in order to maintain it it was necessary to go so far. I shall
not be at all sorry to sound enlightened persons concerning the
thoughts which I have just explained to you.

220 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ

XXXII. THE PrINcIPLES OF NATURE AND OF GRACE. 1714

1. Substance is being, capable of action. It is simple or com-
pound. Simple substance is that which has no parts. Compound
substance is a collection of simple substances or monads. Monas
is a Greek word which signifies unity, or that which is one.

Compounds, or bodies, are multitudes; and simple sub-
stances, lives, souls, spirits are unities. And there must be
simple substances everywhere, because without simple sub-
stances there would be no compounds; and consequently all
nature is full of life.

2. Monads, having no parts, cannot be formed or decom-
posed. They cannot begin or end naturally; and consequently
last as long as the universe, which will indeed be changed but
will not be destroyed. They cannot have shapes; otherwise
they would have parts. And consequently a monad, in itself and
at a given moment, could not be distinguished from another ex-
cept by its internal qualities and actions, which can be nothing
else than its perceptions (that is, representations of the com-
pound, or of what is external, in the simple), and its appetitions
(that is, its tendencies from one perception to another), which
are the principles of change. For the simplicity of substance
does not prevent multiplicity of modifications, which must be
found together in this same simple substance, and must consist
in the variety of relations to things which are external. Just
as in a centre or point, altogether simple as it is, there is found
an infinity of angles formed by lines which there meet.

3. Everything in nature is full. There are everywhere simple
substances, separated in reality from each other by activities of
their own which continually change their relations; and each
simple substance, or monad, which forms the centre of a com-
pound substance (as, for example, of an animal) and the prin-
ciple of its unity, is surrounded by a mass composed of an in-
finity of other monads, which constitute the body proper of
this central monad; and in accordance with the affections of
this it represents, as a centre, the things which are outside of
itself. And this body is organic, when it forms a sort of automa-

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 221

ton or natural machine; which is a machine not only in its
entirety, but also in its smallest perceptible parts. And as, be-
cause of the plenitude of the world, everything is connected and
each body acts upon every other body, more or less according
to the distance, and by reaction is itself affected thereby; it fol-
lows that each monad is a mirror, living or endowed with in-
ternal activity, representative according to its point of view of
the universe, and as regulated as the universe itself. And per-
ceptions in the monad spring one from the other, by the law of
appetites or by the final causes of good and evil, which consist in
visible, regulated or unregulated perceptions; just as the
changes of bodies and external phenomena spring one from
another, by the laws of efficient causes, that is, of movements.
Thus there is perfect harmony between the perceptions of the
monad and the movements of bodies, established at the begin-
ning between the system of efficient causes and that of final
causes. And in this consists the accord and physical union
of the soul and body, although neither one can change the
laws of the other.

4. Each monad, with a particular body, makes a living sub-
stance. Thus there is not only life everywhere, provided with
members or organs, but also there is an infinity of degrees in
monads, some dominating more or less over the others. But
when the monad has organs so adjusted that by means of them
there is clearness and distinctness in the impressions which it
receives and consequently in the perceptions which represent
them (as, for example, when by means of the shape of the
humors of the eyes, the rays of light are concentrated and act
with more force); this can extend even to feeling [sentiment],
that is, even to a perception accompanied by memory, that is,
one a certain echo of which remains a long time to make itself
heard upon occasion; and such a living being is called an anz-
mal, as its monad is called a soul. And when this soul is ele-
vated to reason it is something more sublime and is reckoned
among spirits, as will soon be explained.

It is true that animals are sometimes in the condition of
simple living beings, and their souls in the condition of simple

222 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ

monads, namely, when their perceptions are not sufficiently
distinct to be remembered, as happens in a profound, dreamless
sleep, or in a swoon. But perceptions which have become en-
tirely confused must be re-developed in animals, for reasons
which I shall shortly (§ 12) enumerate. Therefore it is well to
make a distinction between the perception, which is the internal
condition of the monad representing external things, and apper-
ception, which is consciousness or the reflective knowledge of this
internal state; the latter not being given to all souls, nor at all
times to the same soul. And it is for want of this distinction
that the Cartesians have failed, taking no account of the per-
ceptions of which we are not conscious as people take no ac-
count of imperceptible bodies. It is this also which made the
same Cartesians believe that only spirits are monads, that
there is no soul of brutes, and still less other principles of life.

And as they shocked too much the common opinion of men
by refusing feeling to brutes, they have, on the other hand, ac-
commodated themselves too much to the prejudices of the
multitude, by confounding a long swoon, caused by a great con-
fusion of perceptions, with death strictly speaking, where all
perception would cease. This confirmed the ill-founded belief
in the destruction of some souls, and the bad opinion of some
so-called strong minds, who have contended against the
immortality of our soul. —

5. There is a continuity in the perceptions of animals which
bears some resemblance to reason; but it is only founded in the
memory of facts, and not at all in the knowledge of causes. Thus
a dog shuns the stick with which it has been beaten, because
memory represents to it the pain which the stick has caused it.
And men in so far as they are empirics, that is to say, in three-
fourths of their actions, act simply as brutes. For example, we
expect that there will be daylight to-morrow, because we have
always had the experience; only an astronomer foresees it by
reason, and even this prediction will finally fail when the cause
of day, which is not eternal, shall cease. But true reasoning de-
pends upon necessary or eternal truths, such as those of logic,
numbers, geometry, which establish an indubitable connection

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 223

of ideas and unfailing consequences. The animals in which
these consequences are not noticed, are called brutes; but those
which know these necessary truths are properly those which
are called rational animals, and their souls are called spirits.
These souls are capable of performing acts of reflection, and of
considering that which is called the ego, substance, monad, soul,
spirit, in a word, immaterial things and truths. It is this which
_renders us capable of the sciences and of demonstrative know-
ledge.

6. Modern researches have taught us, and reason approves
of it, that living beings whose organs are known to us, that is to
say, plants and animals, do not come from putrefaction or from
chaos, as the ancients believed, but from pre-formed seeds, and
consequently by the transformation of pre-existing living be-
ings. There are animalcules in the seeds of large animals, which
by means of conception assume a new dress which they make
their own and by means of which they can nourish themselves
and increase their size, in order to pass to a larger theatre and
to accomplish the propagation of the large animal. It is true
that the souls of spermatic human animals are not rational and
do not become so until conception determines these animals to
the human nature. And as generally animals are not born alto-
gether in conception or generation, neither do they perish alto-
gether in what we call death; for it is reasonable that what does
not begin naturally, should not end either in the order of na-
ture. Therefore, quitting their mask or their rags, they merely
return to a more subtile theatre where they can, nevertheless,
be just as sensitive and just as well regulated as in the larger.
And what we have just said of large animals, takes place also in
the generation and death of smaller spermatic animals, in com-
parison with which the former may pass for large; for every-
thing extends ad infinitum in nature.

Thus not only souls, but also animals, are ingenerable and
imperishable: they are only developed, unfolded, reclothed,
unclothed, transformed: souls never quit their entire body and
do not pass from one body into another which is entirely new to
them.

224 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ |

There is therefore no metempsychosis, but there is metamor-
phosis; animals change, take and leave only parts: the same
thing which happens little by little and by small invisible par-
ticles but continually in nutrition, and suddenly, visibly but
rarely in conception or death, which cause a gain or loss of
everything at one time.

7. Up to this time we have spoken as simple physicists: now
we must advance to metaphysics by making use of the great prin-
ciple, little employed in general, which teaches that nothing
happens without a sufficient reason; that is to say, that nothing
happens without its being possible for him who should suffi-
ciently understand things, to give a reason sufficient to deter-
mine why it is so and not otherwise. This principle laid down,
the first question which should rightly be asked, would be Why
is there something rather than nothing? For nothing is simpler
and easier than something. Further, suppose that things must
exist, we must be able to give a reason why they must exist so
and not otherwise.

8. Now this sufficient reason for the existence of the universe
could not be found in the series of contingent things, that is, of
bodies and of their representations in souls; for matter being
indifferent in itself to motion and to rest and to this or another
motion, we could not find the reason of motion in it, and still
less of a certain motion. And although the present motion
which is in matter, comes from the preceding motion, and that
from still another preceding, yet in this way we should never
make any progress, go as far as we might; for the same question
would always remain.

Therefore it must be that the sufficient reason which has no
need of another reason, be outside this series of contingent
things and be found in a substance which is its cause, or which
is a necessary being, carrying the reason of its existence within
itself; otherwise we should still not have a sufficient reason in
which we could rest. And this final reason of things is called
God.

9. This simple primitive substance must contain in itself
eminently the perfections contained in the derivative sub-

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 225

stances which are its effects; thus it will have perfect power,
knowledge and will: that is, it will have omnipotence and sover-
eign goodness. And as justice, taken generally, is only goodness
conformed to wisdom, there must too be sovereign justice in
God. The reason which has caused things to exist by him,
makes them still dependent upon him in existing and in work-
ing: and they are continually receiving from him that which
gives them some perfection; but the imperfection which re-
mains in them, comes from the essential and original limitation
of the creature.

to. It follows from the supreme perfection of God, that in
creating the universe he has chosen the best possible plan, in
which there is the greatest variety together with the greatest
order; the best arranged ground, place, time; the most results
produced in the most simple ways; the most of power, know-
ledge, happiness and goodness in the creatures that the uni-
verse could permit. For since all the possibles in the under-
standing of God laid claim to existence in proportion to their
perfections, the actual world, as the resultant of all these
claims, must be the most perfect possible. And without this it
would not be possible to give a reason why things have turned
out so rather than otherwise.

11. The supreme wisdom of God compelled him to choose the
laws of movement best adjusted and most suited to abstract or
metaphysical reasons. He preserves there the same quantity of
total and absolute force, or of actions; the same quantity of
respective force or of reaction; lastly the same quantity of di-
rective force. Farther, action is always equal to reaction, and
the whole effect is always equivalent to the full cause. And it is
not surprising that we could not by the mere consideration of
the efficient causes or of matter, account for those laws of move-
ment which have been discovered in our time, and a part of
which have been discovered by myself. For I have found that
it was necessary to have recourse to final causes, and that these
laws do not depend upon the principle of necessity, like logical,
arithmetical and geometrical truths, but upon the principle of
fitness, that is, upon the choice of wisdom. And this is one of the

226 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ .

most efficacious and evident proofs of the existence of God, to
those who can examine these matters thoroughly.

12. It follows, farther, from the perfection of the supreme
author, that not only is the order of the entire universe the
most perfect possible, but also that each living mirror repre-
senting the universe in accordance with its point of view, that
is to say, that each monad, each substantial centre, must have
its perceptions and its desires as well regulated as is compatible
with all the rest. Whence it follows, still farther, that souls,
that is, the most dominating monads, or rather, animals, can-
not fail to awaken from the state of stupor in which death or
some other accident may put them. |

13. For everything in things is regulated once for all with as
much order and harmony as is possible, supreme wisdom and
goodness not being able to act except with perfect harmony.
The present is big with the future, the future could be read in
the past, the distant is expressed in the near. One could be-
come acquainted with the beauty of the universe in each soul,
if one could unfold all its folds, which only develop visibly in
time. But as each distinct perception of the soul includes in-
numerable confused perceptions which comprise the whole uni-
verse, the soul itself knows the things of which it has percep-
tion only so far as it has distinct and clear perceptions of them.

Each soul knows the infinite, knows all, but confusedly. As
in walking on the sea-shore and hearing the great noise which
it makes, I hear the individual sounds of each wave, of which
the total sound is composed, but without distinguishing them;
so our confused perceptions are the result of the impressions
which the whole universe makes upon us. It is the same with
each monad. God alone has a distinct consciousness of every-
thing, for he is the source of all. It has been well said that he is
as centre everywhere, but that his circumference is nowhere,
since without any withdrawal from this centre, everything is
immediately present to him.

14. As regards the rational soul, or spirit, there is something
in it more than in the monads, or even in simple souls. It is not
only a mirror of the universe of creatures, but also an image of

PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 227

the Divinity. The spirit has not only a perception of the works
of God, but it is even capable of producing something which
resembles them, although in miniature. For, to say nothing of
the marvels of dreams where we invent without trouble, and
even involuntarily, things which when awake we should have
to think a long time in order to hit upon, our soul is architec-
tonic in its voluntary actions also, and, discovering the sciences
according to which God has regulated things (pondere, mensura,
numero, etc.), it imitates, in its department and in the little
world where it is permitted to exercise itself, what God does in
the large world.

15. This is why all spirits, whether of men or of genii, enter-
ing by virtue of reason and of the eternal truths into a sort of
society with God, are members of the City of God, that is to
say, of the most perfect state, formed and governed by the
greatest and best of monarchs; where there is no crime without
punishment, no good actions without proportionate recom-
pense; and finally as much virtue and happiness as is possible;
and this is not by a derangement of-nature, as if what God pre-
pares for souls disturbed the laws of bodies, but by the very
order of natural things, in virtue of the harmony pre-estab-
lished for all time between the realms of nature and of grace,
between God as Architect and God as Monarch; so that nature
leads to grace and grace, while making use of nature, perfects it.

16. Thus although reason cannot teach us the details, re-
served to Revelation, of the great future, we can be assured by
this same reason that things are made in a manner surpassing
our desires. God also being the most perfect and most happy,
and consequently, the most lovable of substances, and ¢truly
pure love consisting in the state which finds pleasure in the per-
fections and happiness of the loved object, this love ought to
give us the greatest pleasure of which we are capable, when
God is its object.

17. And it is easy to love him as we ought, if we know him as
I have just described. For although God is not visible to our
external senses, he does not cease to be very lovable and to give
very great pleasure. We see how much pleasure honors give

228 GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ

men, although they do not at all consist in the qualities of the
external senses.

Martyrs and fanatics (although the affection of the latter is
ill-regulated), show what pleasure of the spirit can accomplish;
and what is more, even sensuous pleasures are reduced to con-
fusedly known intellectual pleasures.

Music charms us, although its beauty only consists in the
harmony of numbers and in the reckoning of the beats or vibra-
tions of sounding bodies, which meet at certain intervals, of
which we are not conscious and which the soul does not cease
to make. The pleasures which sight finds in proportions are of
the same nature; and those caused by the other senses amount
to almost the same thing, although we cannot explain it so
clearly.

18. It may be said that even from the present time on, the
love of God makes us enjoy a foretaste of future felicity. And
although it is disinterested, it itself constitutes our greatest
good and interest even if we should not seek it therein and
should consider only the pleasure which it gives, without re-
gard to the utility it produces; for it gives us perfect confidence
in the goodness of our author and master, producing a true
tranquillity of mind; not like the Stoics who force themselves
to patience, but by a present content which assures us of future
happiness. And besides the present pleasure, nothing can be
more useful for the future; for the love of God fulfills our hopes,
too, and leads us in the road of supreme happiness, because by
virtue of the perfect order established in the universe, every-
thing is done in the best possible way, as much for the general
good as for the greatest individual good of those who are con-
vinced of this and are content with the divine government;
this conviction cannot be wanting to those who know how to
love the source of all good. It is true that supreme felicity, by
whatever beatific vision or knowledge of God it be accompanied,
can never be full; because, since God is infinite, he cannot be
wholly known. Therefore our happiness will never, and ought
not to, consist in full joy, where there would be nothing farther
to desire, rendering our mind stupid; but in a perpetual pro-
gress to new pleasures and to new perfections. ,

CHRISTIAN VON WOLFF
(1679-1754)
RATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY

Translated from the Latin * by
EDWARD KENNARD RAND

THE ESSENCE AND NATURE OF THE SOUL

§ 48. The soul is a simple substance. For the soul is not body
(§ 47) nor an attribute communicated to the body (§ 46), and
further, neither is it a composite entity nor does it inhere in a
composite entity (§ 119, Cosmol.'). Wherefore since every entity
is either composite or simple (§ 532, 673, Ontol.”) the soul must
be a simple entity.
| Now since acts of thought continually change and succeed
one another in turn, they are to be classed with modes (§ 151,
Ontol.) The soul, therefore, to which these modes apply, is sub-
ject to modification (§ 764, Ontol.), and since it is obvious that
the soul lasts for some time in conjunction with the body (for
whether it can exist apart from the body or not need not be
established here) it is per durable (§ 766, Ontol.). Certainly a
per durable and modifiable object is a substance. Therefore
the soul is a substance.

But the soul is a simple entity by the foregoing proof. There-
fore it is a simple substance.

§ 53. The soul is endowed with a certain power. The soul is
a substance (§ 48), and since perceptions succeed one another in
the same, and desires spring from perceptions, and perceptions

® From Christian von Wolff’s Psychologia rationalis. Francof. et Lips. 1734.

1 Wolff’s Cosmologia generalis. Francof. et Lips. 1731.
2 Wolff’s Philosophia prima sive Ontologia. Francof. et Lips. 1730.

230 CHRISTIAN VON WOLFF

again from desires, as is generally admitted in Empiric Psy-
chology, its condition changes (§ 709, Ontol.). It therefore is
endowed with a certain power. (§ 776, Ontol.).

§ 54. A power and a faculty of the soul are different from one
another. For power consists in the continual endeavor to act
(§ 724, Ontol.). Faculties are merely potencies of action on the
part of the soul (§ 29, Psych. Empir.'), and thus have possibili-
ties of action (§ 716, Ontol.). Therefore a power of the soul and
a faculty differ from one another (§ 183, Ontol.).

§56. The soul continually tends to change tis conditions. For it
is endowed with a certain power. Wherefore, since a power
continually tends to change the condition of the subject in
which it is (§ 725, Ontol.), the soul, too, through the mediation
of its own power, is bound to tend continually to change its
condition.

§ 57. The power of the soul is absolutely simple. For the soul
is simple and thus lacks parts (§ 673, Ontol.). Let us now sup-
pose that the soul has more than one power distinct from one
another; since each one of them consists in the continued
endeavor to act (§ 724, Ontol.), each one requires a particular
subject in which it is. And so we must conceive of several
actual entities distinct from one another (§ 142, 183, Ontol.),
which when taken together with the soul will be the parts of the
same (§ 341, Ontol.). But this is altogether absurd by the proof
above given.

§ 62. The soul re-presents to itself this universe in accordance
with the location of its organic body in the universe, conformably
to the mutations which affect the organs of sensation. For this
law of sensations is constant and inviolable: if a certain muta-
tion is produced in some organ of sensation by some sensible
object there coexists in the soul a sensation which may be ex-
plained to it in an intelligible way, or which recognises in it a
sufficient reason why it should be, and why it should be such as
itis. (§85, Psychol. Empir.) Now sensations are perceptions
of external objects, which produce a change in the organs of sen-
sation (§67, Psychol. Empir.), and hence while the soul feels, it

1 Wolff’s Psychologia Empirica. Francof. et Lips. 1732.

RATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY 231

re-presents those objects to itself (§ 24, Psychol. Empir.). And
since our body is constantly in this visible world, bodies also
which compose the same (§ 119, Cosmol.) act constantly upon
our body in accordance with its location in the world, or the
universe. It is clear, therefore, that the soul re-presents to
itself this universe, or this visible world, in accordance with the
location of our organic body in the universe, and conformably
to the mutations which the bodies of which it is composed
produce in the same. When we sleep we perceive nothing
clearly and distinctly (§ 15). However since the soul is still ina
condition of preception, although all its conceptions are con-
fused or obscure, there is nothing to prevent it from still per-
ceiving obscurely its own body, and the things that impress it,
and hence from continuing this re-presentation of the world, so
that therefore it may be said without reservation that it
re-presents to itself this universe.

§ 66. The essence of the soul consists in tts power of re-presenting
(vis representiva) the universe, which power is materially limited
by its location in an organic body in the universe, and formally
limited by the constitution of the sensory organs. For this power
is the first principle which is conceived with regard to the soul,
and on which depend the other attributes which are inherent in
it ($65). Therefore the essence of the soul consists in the same
(§ 168, Ontol.).

§ 67. The nature of the soul consists in the same re-presenting
power (vis representiva). For by this power of the soul every-
thing is activated that is possible through the faculties of the
soul. Wherefore since we understand by the nature of the soul
that principle of mutations in the soul which is intrinsic in the
same, just as by the nature of the universe we understand that
principle of mutations in the world which is intrinsic in the
same (§ 503, Cosmol.); and since this principle of mutations is
power (§ 807, Ontol.), and since the power with which the soul
is endowed (§ 53) is only the power of re-presenting (vis
representiva) the universe (§ 62), that power of re-presenting
(vis representiva) the universe is likewise the nature of the
soul.

JOHN LOCKE
(1632-1704)
AN ESSAY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDER-
STANDING*

BOOK I
CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION

1. An inquiry into the understanding, pleasant and useful. —
Since it is the understanding that sets man above the rest of sens-
ible beings, and gives him all the advantage and dominion
which he has over them, it is certainly a subject, even for its
nobleness, worth our labour to inquire into. The understand-
ing, like the eye, whilst it makes us see and perceive all other
things, takes no notice of itself; and it requires art and pains to
set it at a distance, and makeit its own object. But whatever be
the difficulties that lie in the way of this inquiry, whatever it be
‘that keeps us so much in the dark to ourselves, sure I am that
all the light wecan let in upon our own minds, all the acquaint-
ance we can make with our own understandings, will not only
be very pleasant, but bring us great advantage in directing
our thoughts in the search of other things.

2. Design. — This therefore being my purpose, to inquire
into the original, certainty, and extent of human knowledge,
together with the grounds and degrees of belief, opinion, and
assent, I shall not at present meddle with the physical con-
sideration of the mind, or trouble myself to examine wherein its
essence consists or by what motions of our spirits, or alterations
of our bodies, we come to have any sensation by our organs, or
any 7deas in our understandings; and whether those ideas do, in
their formation, any or all of them, depend on matter or not:

* London, 1690; 2d col. ed. 1694; 3d ed. 1697; 4th col. ed. 1700; ed. A. C
Fraser, 2 vols. Oxford, 1894.

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 233

these are speculations which, however curious and entertaining,
I shall decline, as lying out of my way in the design I am now
upon. It shall suffice to my present purpose, to consider the dis-
cerning faculties of a man, as they are employed about the
objects which they have to do with; and I shall imagine I have
not wholly misemployed myself in the thoughts I shall have on
this occasion, if, in this historical, plain method, I can give any
account of the ways whereby our understandings come to
attain those notions of things we have, and can set down any
measures of the certainty of our knowledge, or the grounds of
those persuasions which are to be found amongst men, so vari-
ous, different, and wholly contradictory; and yet asserted
somewhere or other with such assurance and confidence, that he
that shall take a view of the opinions of mankind, observe their
opposition, and at the same time consider the fondness and
devotion wherewith they are embraced, the resolution and
eagerness wherewith they are maintained, may perhaps have
reason to suspect that either there is no such thing as truth at
all, or that mankind hath no sufficient means to attain acertain
knowledge of it.

3. Method. — It is therefore worth while to search out the
bounds between opinion and knowledge, and examine by what
measures, in things whereof we have no certain knowledge, we
ought to regulate our assent, and moderate our persuasions. In
order whereunto, I shall pursue this following method: —

First. I shall inquire into the original of those ideas, notions,
or whatever else you please to call them, which a man observes,
and is conscious to himself he has in his mind; and the ways
whereby the understanding comes to be furnished with them.

Secondly. I shall endeavour to show what knowledge the
understanding hath by those ideas, and the certainty, evidence,
and extent of it.

Thirdly. I shall make some inquiry into the nature and
grounds of faith or opinion; whereby I mean, that assent which
we give to any proposition as true, of whose truth yet we have
no certain knowledge: and here we shall have occasion to
examine the reasons and degrees of assent. —

234. JOHN LOCKE

BOOK II

CHAPTER I. OF IDEAS IN GENERAL, AND THEIR
ORIGINAL

1. Idea is the object of thinking. — Every man being con-
scious of himself, that he thinks, and that which his mind is
applied about, whilst thinking, being the ideas that are there, it
is past doubt that men havein their mind several ideas, such as
are those expressed by the words, whiteness, hardness, sweet-
ness, thinking, motion, man, elephant, army, drunkenness, and
others: it is in the first place then to be inquired, How he comes
by them? I know it is a received doctrine, that men have native
ideas and original characters stamped upon their minds in their
very first being. This opinion I have at large examined already;
and, I suppose, what I have said in the foregoing book will be
much more easily admitted, when I have shown whence the
understanding may get all the ideas it has, and by what ways
and degrees they may come into the mind; for which I shall
appeal to every one’s own observation and experience.

2. All ideas come from sensation or reflection. — Let us then
suppose the mind to be, as we say, white paper, void of all char-
acters, without any ideas: How comes it to be furnished?
Whence comes it by that vast store, which the busy and bound-
less fancy of man has painted on it with an almost endless
variety? Whence has it all the materials of reason and know-
ledge? To this I answer, in one word, From experience. In that
all our knowledge is founded, and from that it ultimately
derives itself. Our observation, employed either about external
sensible objects, or about the internal operations of our mind,
perceived and reflected on by ourselves, is that which supplies
our understandings with all the materials of thinking. These
two are the fountains of knowledge, from whence all the ideas
we have, or can naturally have, do spring.

3. The object of sensation one source of ideas. — First. Our
senses, conversant about particular sensible objects, do convey
into the mind several distinct perceptions of things, according

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 235

to those various ways wherein those objects do affect them; and
thus we come by those ideas we have of yellow, white, heat,
cold, soft, hard, bitter, sweet, and all those which we call sens-
ible qualities; which when I say the senses convey into the
mind, I mean, they from external objects convey into the mind
what produces there those perceptions. This great source
of most of the ideas we have, depending wholly upon our
senses, and derived by them to the understanding, I call,
SENSATION.

4. The operations of our minds the other source of them. —
Secondly. The other fountain, from which experience furnish-
eth the understanding with ideas, is the perception of the opera-
tions of our own minds within us, as it is employed about the
ideas it has got; which operations when the soul comes to reflect
on and consider, do furnish the understanding with another set
of ideas which could not be had from things without; and such
are perception, thinking, doubting, believing, reasoning, know-
ing, willing, and all the different actings of our own minds;
which we, being conscious of, and observing in ourselves, do
from these receive into our understandings as distinct ideas, as
we do from bodies affecting our senses. This source of ideas
every man has wholly in himself; and though it be not sense as
having nothing to do with external objects, yet it is very like it,
and might properly enough be called zuternal sense. But as I
call the other sensation, so I call this REFLECTION, the ideas it
affords being such only as the mind gets by reflecting on its
own operations within itself. By reflection, then, in the follow-
ing part of this discourse, I would be understood to mean that
notice which the mind takes of its own operations, and the
manner of them, by reason whereof there come to be ideas of
these operations in the understanding. These two, I say, viz.,
external material things as the objects of sensation, and the
operations of our own minds within as the objects of reflection,
are, to me, the only originals from whence all our ideas take
their beginnings. The term operations here, I use in a large
sense, as comprehending not barely the actions of the mind
about its ideas, but some sort of passions arising sometimes

236 JOHN LOCKE

from them, such as is the satisfaction or uneasiness arising
from any thought.

s. All our ideas are of the one or the other of these. —The
understanding seems to me not to have the least glimmering of
any ideas which it doth not receive from one of these two. Ex-
ternal objects furnish the mind with the ideas of sensible quali-
ties, which are all those different perceptions they produce in
us; and the mind furnishes the understanding with ideas of its
own operations.

These, when we have taken a full survey of them, and their
several modes [combinations, and relations], we shall find to
contain all our whole stock of ideas; and that we have nothing
in our minds which did not come in one of these two ways. Let
any one examine his own thoughts, and thoroughly search into
his understanding, and then let him tell me, whether all the
original ideas he has there, are any other than of the objects of
his senses, or of the operations of his mind considered as objects
of his reflection; and how great a mass of knowledge soever he
imagines to be lodged there, he will, upon taking a strict view,
see that he has not any idea in his mind but what one of these
two have imprinted, though perhaps with infinite variety com-
pounded and enlarged by the understanding, as we shall see
hereafter.

CHAPTER II. OF SIMPLE IDEAS

1. Uncompounded appearances. — The better to understand
the nature, manner, and extent of our knowledge, one thing
is carefully to be observed concerning the ideas we have; and
that is, that some of them are simple, and some complex.

Though the qualities that affect our senses are, in the things
themselves, so united and blended that there is no separation,
no distance between them; yet it is plain the ideas they produce
in the mind enter by the senses simple and unmixed. For
though the sight and touch often take in from the same object,
at the same time, different ideas — as a man sees at once

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 237

motion and colour, the hand feels softness and warmth in the
same piece of wax — yet the simple ideas thus united in the
same subject are as perfectly distinct as those that come in by
different senses; the coldness and hardness which a man feels in
a piece of ice being as distinct ideas in the mind as the smell and
whiteness of a lily, or as the taste of sugar and smell of a rose:
and there is nothing can be plainer to a man than the clear and
distinct perception he has of those simple ideas; which, being
each in itself uncompounded, contains in it nothing but one
uniform appearance or conception in the mind, and is not dis-
tinguishable into different ideas.

2. The mind can neither make nor destroy them. — These
simple ideas, the materials of all our knowledge, are suggested
and furnished to the mind only by those two ways above men-
tioned, viz., sensation and reflection. When the understanding
is once stored with these simple ideas, it has the power to
repeat, compare, and unite them, even to an almost infinite
variety, and so can make at pleasure new complex ideas. But
it is not in the power of the most exalted wit or enlarged under-
standing, by any quickness or variety of thought, to invent or
frame one new simple idea in the mind, not taken in by the
ways before mentioned; nor can any force of the understand-
ing destroy those that are there: the dominion of man in this
little world of his own understanding, being much-what the
same as it is in the great world of visible things, wherein his
power, however managed by art and skill, reaches no farther
than to compound and divide the materials that are made to
his hand but can do nothing towards the making the least par-
’ ticle of new matter, or destroying one atom of what is already
$n DEMIS. ! 05s

CHAPTER III. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF SENSE

1. Division of simple ideas. — The better to conceive the
ideas we receive from sensation, it may not be amiss for us to
consider them in reference to the different ways whereby they
make their approaches to our minds, and make themselves per-
ceivable by us. -~—

238 JOHN LOCKE

First, then, there are some which come into our minds by one
sense only. | ,

Secondly. There are others that convey themselves into the
mind by more senses than one.

Thirdly. Others that are had from reflection only.

Fourthly. There are some that make themselves way, and
are suggested to the mind, by all the ways of sensation and
reflection.

We shall consider them apart under these several heads.

1. There are some ideas which have admittance only through
one sense, which is peculiarly adapted to receive them. Thus
light and colours, as white, red, yellow, blue, with their several
degrees or shades and mixtures, as green, scarlet, purple, sea-
green, and the rest, come in only by the eyes; all kinds of
noises, sounds, and tones, only by the ears; the several tastes
and smells, by the nose and palate. And if these organs, or the
nerves which are the conduits to convey them from without to
their audience in the brain, the mind’s presence-room (as I
may so call it), are, any of them, so disordered as not to perform
their functions, they have no postern to be admitted by, no
other way to bring themselves into view, and be received by
the understanding.

The most considerable of those belonging to the touch are
heat, and cold, and solidity; all the rest — consisting almost
wholly in the sensible configuration, as smooth and rough; or
else more or less firm adhesion of the parts, as hard and soft,
tough and brittle — are obvious enough.

2. I think it will be needless to enumerate all the particular
simple ideas belonging to each sense. Nor indeed is it possible
if we would, there being a great many more of them belonging
to most of the senses than we have names for. . . . I shall
therefore, in the account of simple ideas I am here giving, con-
tent myself to set down only such as are most material to our
present purpose, or are in themselves less apt to be taken notice
of, though they are very frequently the ingredients of our com-
plex ideas; amongst which I think I may well account “‘solid-
ity,” which therefore I shall treat of in the next chapter. _

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 239

CHAPTER IV. IDEA OF SOLIDITY

1. We receive this idea from touch. — The idea of solidity we
receive by our touch; and it arises from the resistance which we
find in body to the entrance of any other body into the place it
possesses, till it has left it. There is no idea which we receive
more constantly from sensation than solidity. Whether we
move or rest, in what posture soever we are, we always feel
something under us that supports us, and hinders our farther
sinking downwards; and the bodies which we daily handle make
us perceive that whilst they remain between them, they do, by
an insurmountable force, hinder the approach of the parts of our
hands that press them. That which thus hinders the approach
of two bodies, when they are moving one towards another, I
call solidity. I will not dispute whether this acceptation of the
word ‘‘solid”’ be nearer to its original signification than that
which mathematicians use it in; it suffices that, I think, the
common notion of “‘solidity,” will allow, if not justify, this use
of it; but if any one think it better to call it zmpenetrability, he
has my consent. Only I have thought the term solidity the
more proper to express this idea, not only because of its vulgar
use in that sense, but also because it carries something more of
positive in it than impenetrability, which is negative, and is,
perhaps, more a consequence of solidity than solidity itself.
This, of all other, seems the idea most intimately connected
with and essential to body, so as nowhere else to be found or
imagined but only in matter; and though our senses take no
notice of it but in masses of matter, of a bulk sufficient to cause
a sensation in us; yet the mind, having once got this idea from
such grosser sensible bodies, traces it farther and considers it,
as well as figure, in the minutest particle of matter that can
exist, and finds it inseparably inherent in body, wherever or
however modified.

2. Solidity fills space. — This is the idea which belongs to
body, whereby we conceive it to fill space. The idea of which
filling of space is, that where we imagine any space taken up by

240 JOHN LOCKE

a solid substance, we conceive it so to possess it that it excludes
all other solid substances, and will for ever hinder any two
other bodies, that move towards one another in a straight line,
from coming to touch one another, unless it removes from be-
tween them in a line not parallel to that which they move in.
This idea of it, the bodies which we ordinarily handle suffi-
ciently furnish us with.

6. What it is. — If any one asks me, What this solidity is, I
send him to his senses to inform him: let him put a flint or a
football between his hands, and then endeavour to join them,
and he will know. If he thinks this not a sufficient explication
of solidity, what it is, and wherein it consists, I promise to tell
him what it is, and wherein it consists, when he tells me what
thinking is, or wherein it consists; or explains to me what ex-
tension or motion is, which perhaps seems much easier. The
simple ideas we have are such as experience teaches them us;
but if, beyond that, we endeavour by words to make them
clearer in the mind, we shall succeed no better than if we went
about to clear up the darkness of a blind man’s mind by talking,
and to discourse into him the ideas of light and colours. The
reason of this I shall show in another place.

CHAPTER VI. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF REFLECTION

1. Simple ideas of reflection are the operations of the mind
about its other ideas. —'The mind, receiving the ideas men-
tioned in the foregoing chapters from without, when it turns its
view inward upon itself, and observes its own actions about
those ideas it has, takes from thence other ideas, which are as
capable to be the objects of its contemplation as any of those it
received from foreign things.

2. The idea of perception, and idea of willing, we have from
reflection. — The two great and principal actions of the mind,
which are most frequently considered, and which are so fre-
quent that every one that pleases may take notice of them in
himself, are these two: Perception or Thinking; and Volition or
Willing. [The power of thinking is called the Understanding,

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 241

and the power of volition is called the Wiil; and these two powers
or abilities in the mind are denominated “‘faculties.”] . . .

CHAPTER VII. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF BOTH SENSA- '

TION AND REFLECTION

1. Pleasure and pain. — There be other simple ideas which
convey themselves into the mind by all the ways of sensation
and reflection; viz., pleasure or delight, and its opposite, pain or
uneasiness; power, existence, unity.

2. Delight or uneasiness, one or other of them, join them-
selves to almost all our ideas both of sensation and reflection;
and there is scarce any affection of our senses from without, any
retired thought of our mind within, which is not able to produce
in us pleasure or pain. By “pleasure” and “‘pain,’’ I would be
understood to signify whatsoever delights or molests us; whether
it arises from the thoughts of our minds, or any thing operating
on our bodies. For whether we call it ‘‘satisfaction, delight,
pleasure, happiness,” &c., on the one side; or “uneasiness,
trouble, pain, torment, anguish, misery,” &c., on the other;
they are still but different degrees of the same thing, and belong
to the ideas of pleasure and pain, delight or uneasiness; which
are the names I shall most commonly use for those two sorts of
ideas.

6. Pleasure and pain. — Though what I have here said may
not perhaps make the ideas of pleasure and pain clearer to us
than our own experience does, which is the only way that we
are capable of having them; yet the consideration of the reason
why they are annexed to so many other ideas, serving to give us
due sentiments of the wisdom and goodness of the Sovereign
Disposer of all things, may not be unsuitable to the main end of
these inquiries: the knowledge and veneration of Him being the
chief end of all our thoughts, and the proper business of all our
understandings.

7. Existence and unity. — Existence and unity are two other
ideas that are suggested to the understanding by every object
without, and every idea within. When ideas are in our minds,

242 JOHN LOCKE

we consider them as being actually there, as well as we consider
things to be actually without us: which is, that they exist, or
have existence: and whatever we can consider as one thing,
whether a real being or idea, suggests to the understanding
the idea of unity.

8. Power. — Power also is another of those simple ideas
which we receive from sensation and reflection. For, observing
in ourselves that we do and can think, and that we can at
pleasure move several parts of our bodies which were at rest;
the effects also that natural bodies are able to produce in one
another occurring every moment to our senses, we both these
ways get the idea of power.

9. Succession. — Besides these there is another idea, which
though suggested by our senses, yet is more constantly offered
us by what passes in our minds; and that is the idea of succes-
sion. For if we look immediately into ourselves, and reflect on
what is observable there, we shall find our ideas always, whilst
we are awake or have any thought, passing in train, one going
and another coming without intermission.

10. Simple ideas the materials of all our knowledge. — ‘These,
if they are not all, are at least (as I think) the most considerable
of those simple ideas which the mind has, and out of which is
made all its other knowledge: all of which it receives only by the
two forementioned ways of sensation and reflection.

CHAPTER VIII. SOME FURTHER CONSIDERA-
TIONS CONCERNING OUR SIMPLE
IDEAS OF SENSATION

7. Ideas in the mind, qualities in bodies. —'To discover the
nature of our zdeas the better, and to discourse of them intel-
ligibly, it will be convenient to distinguish them, as they are
ideas or perceptions in our minds: and as they are modifica-
tions of matter in the bodies that cause such perceptions in us;
that so we may not think (as perhaps usually is done) that they
are exactly the images and resemblances of something inherent

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 243

in the subject; most of those of sensation being in the mind no
more the likeness of something existing without us than the
names that stand for them are the likeness of our ideas, which
yet upon hearing they are apt to excite in us.

8. Whatsoever the mind perceives in itself, or is the immedi-
ate object of perception, thought, or understanding, that I call
idea; and the power to produce any idea in our mind, I call
quality of the subject wherein that power is. Thus a snowball
having the power to produce in us the ideas of white, cold, and
round, the powers to produce those ideas in us as they are in the
snowball, I call qualities; and as they are sensations or percep-
tions in our understandings, I call them ‘‘ideas”’; which ideas,
if I speak of them sometimes as in the things themselves, I
would be understood to mean those qualities in the objects
which produce them in us.

9. Primary qualities. — [Qualities thus considered in bodies
are, First,such as are utterly inseparable from the body, in what
estate soever it be;] and such as, in all the alterations and
changes it suffers, all the force can be used upon it, it constantly
keeps; and such as sense constantly finds in every particle of
matter which has bulk enough to be perceived, and the mind
finds inseparable from every particle of matter, though less than
to make itself singly be perceived by our senses; ¢.g., take a grain
of wheat, divide it into two parts, each part has still solidity,
extension, figure, and mobility; divide it again, and it retains
still the same qualities: and so divide it on till the parts become
insensible, they must retain still each of them all those quali-
ties. For, division (which is all that a mill or pestle or any other
body does upon another, in reducing it to insensible parts) can
never take away either solidity, extension, figure, or mobility
from any body, but only makes two or more distinct separate
masses of matter of that which was but one before; all which
distinct masses, reckoned as so many distinct bodies, after divi-
sion, make a certain number. [These I call original or primary
qualities of body, which I think we may observe to produce
simple ideas in us, viz., solidity, extension, figure, motion or
rest, and number.

244 JOHN LOCKE

10. Secondary qualities. — Secondly. Such qualities, which
in truth are nothing in the objects themselves, but powers to
produce various sensations in us by their primary qualities, 7.e.,
by the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of their insensible
parts, as colours, sounds, tastes, &c., these I call secondary
qualities. To these might be added a third sort, which are
allowed to be barely powers, though they are as much real qual-
ities in the subject as those which I, to comply with the com-
mon way of speaking, call qualities, but, for distinction, second-
ary qualities. For, the power in fire to produce a new colour or
consistency in wax or clay, — by its primary qualities, is as
much a quality in fire as the power it has to produce in me a
new idea or sensation of warmth or burning, which I felt not
before, — by the same primary qualities, viz., the bulk, texture,
and motion of its insensible parts.]

11. [How primary qualities produce their ideas. —'The next
thing to be considered is, how bodies produce ideas in us; and
that is manifestly by impulse, the only way which we can con-
ceive bodies to operate in.]

12. If, then, external objects be not united to our minds
when they produce ideas therein; and yet we perceive these
original qualities in such of them as singly fall under our senses,
it is evident that some motion must be thence continued by our
nerves, or animal spirits, by some parts of our bodies, to the
brains or the seat of sensation, there to produce in our minds
the particular ideas we have of them. And since the extension,
figure, number, and motion of bodies of an observable bigness,
may be perceived at a distance by the sight, it is evident some
singly imperceptible bodies must come from them to the eyes,
and thereby convey to the brain some motion which produces
these ideas which we have of them in us.

13. How secondary. — After the same manner that the ideas
of these original qualities are produced in us, we may conceive
that the ideas of secondary qualities are also produced, viz., by
the operation of insensible particles on our senses. For it being
manifest that there are bodies, and good store of bodies, each
whereof are so small that we cannot by any of our senses dis-

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 245

cover either their bulk, figure, or motion (as is evident in the
particles of the air and water, and other extremely smaller than
those, perhaps as much smaller than the particles of air or water
as the particles of air or water are smaller than peas or hail-
stones): let us suppose at present that the different motions and
figures, bulk and number, of such particles, effecting the several
organs of our senses, produce in us those different sensations
which we have from the colours and smells of bodies; e.g., that
a violet, by the impulse of such insensible particles of matter of
peculiar figures and bulks, and in different degrees and modifi-
cations of their motions, causes the ideas of the blue colour and
sweet scent of that flower to be produced in our minds; it being
no more impossible to conceive that God should annex such
ideas to such motions, with which they have no similitude, than
that he should annex the idea of pain to the motion of a piece of
steel dividing our flesh, with which the idea hath no resem-
blance.

14. What I have said concerning colours and smells may be
understood also of tastes and sounds, and other the like sens-
ible qualities; which, whatever reality we by mistake attribute
to them, are in truth nothing in the objects themselves, but
powers to produce various sensations in us, and depend on
those primary qualities, viz., bulk, figure, texture, and motion
of parts [as I have said].

15. Ideas of primary qualities are resemblances; of secondary,
not. — From whence I think it is easy to draw this observation,
that the ideas of primary qualities of bodies are resemblances of
them, and their patterns do really exist in the bodies them-
selves; but the ideas produced in us by these secondary qual-
ities have no resemblance of them at all. There is nothing like
our ideas existing in the bodies themselves. They are, in the
bodies we denominate from them, only a power to produce
those sensations in us; and what is sweet, blue, or warm in idea,
is but the certain bulk, figure, and motion of the insensible parts
in the bodies themselves, which we call so.
| 23. Three sorts of qualities in bodies. —'The qualities then
that are in bodies, rightly considered, are of three sorts: —

246 JOHN LOCKE

First. The bulk, figure, number, situation, and motion or
rest of their solid parts; those are in. them, whether we perceive
them or not; and when they are of that size that we can dis-
cover them, we have by these ideas of the thing as it is in itself,
as is plain in artificial things. These I call primary qualities.

Secondly. The power that is in any body, by reason of its
insensible primary qualities, to operate after a peculiar manner
on any of our senses, and thereby produce in us the different
ideas of several colours, sounds, smells, tastes, &c. These are
usually called sensible qualities.

Thirdly. The power that is in any body, by reason of the
particular constitution of its primary qualities, to make such a
change in the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of another body,
as to make it operate on our senses differently from what it did
before. Thus the sun has a power to make wax white, and fire,
to make lead fluid. [These are usually called powers.]

The first of these, as has been said, I think may be properly
called real, original, or primary qualities, because they are in
the things themselves, whether they are perceived or no; and
upon their different modifications it is that the secondary qual-
ities depend.

The other two are only powers to act differently upon other
things, which powers result from the different modifications of
those primary qualities.

CHAPTER IX. OF PERCEPTION

1. Perception the first simple idea of reflection.— Perception,
as it is the first faculty of the mind exercised about our ideas,
so it is the first and simplest idea we have from reflection, and
is by some called “thinking” in general. Though thinking, in
the propriety of the English tongue, signifies that sort of opera-
tion of the mind about its ideas wherein the mind is active;
where it, with some degree of voluntary attention, considers
any thing: for in bare, naked perception, the mind is, for the
most part, only passive, and what it perceives it cannot avoid
perceiving.

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 247

2. Is only when the mind receives the impression. — What
perception is, every one will know better by reflecting on what
he does himself, when he sees, hears, feels, &c., or thinks, than
by any discourse of mine. Whoever reflects on what passes in
his own mind, cannot miss it; and if he does not reflect, all the
words in the world cannot make him have any notion of it.

3. This is certain, that whatever alterations are made in the
body, if they reach not the mind; whatever impressions are
made on the outward parts, if they are not taken notice of
within; there is no perception. Fire may burn our bodies with
no other effect than it does a billet, unless the motion be con-
tinued to the brain, and there the sense of heat or idea of pain
be produced in the mind, wherein consists actual perception.

8. Ideas of sensation often changed by the judgment. — We are
farther to consider concerning perception, that the ideas we
receive by sensation are often in grown people altered by the
judgment without our taking notice of it. When we set before
our eyes a round globe of any uniform colour, e.g., gold, ala-
baster, or jet, it is certain that the idea thereby imprinted in
our mind is of a flat circle variously shadowed, with several
degrees of light and brightness coming to our eyes. But we
having, by use, been accustomed to perceive what kind of ap-
pearance convex bodies are wont to make in us; what altera-
tions are made in the reflections of light by the difference of the
sensible figures of bodies; the judgment presently, by an habit-
ual custom, alters the appearances into their causes; so that,
from that which truly is variety of shadow or colour collecting
the figure, it makes it pass for a mark of figure, and frames to
itself the perception of a convex figure and an uniform colour;
when the idea we receive from thence is only a plane variously
coloured, as is evident in painting. [To which purpose I shall
here insert a problem of that very ingenious and studious pro-
moter of real knowledge, the learned and worthy Mr. Molin-
eaux, which he was pleased to send me in a letter some months
since: and it is this: ‘‘Suppose a man born blind, and now adult,
and taught by his touch to distinguish between a cube and a
sphere of the same metal, and nighly of the same bigness, so as

248 JOHN LOCKE

to tell, when he felt one and the other, which is the cube, which
the sphere. Suppose then the cube and sphere placed on a
table, and the blind man to be made to see; quere, Whether by
his sight, before he touched them, he could now distinguish and
tell which is the globe, which the cube?” To which the acute
and judicious proposer answers: “Not. For though he has
obtained the experience of how a globe, how a cube, affects his
touch; yet he has not yet obtained the experience, that what
affects his touch so or so, must affect his sight so or so; or that a
protuberant angle in the cube, that pressed his hand unequally,
shall appear to his eye as it does in the cube.” I agree with this
thinking gentleman whom I am proud to call my friend, in his
answer to this his problem; and am of opinion, that the blind
man, at first sight, would not be able with certainty to say
which was the globe, which the cube, whilst he only saw them;
though he could unerringly name them by his touch, and cer-
tainly distinguish them by the difference of their figures felt.
This I have set down, and leave with my reader, as an occasion
for him to consider how much he may be beholden to experi-
ence, improvement, and acquired notions, where he thinks he
has not the least use of, or help from them. And the rather,
because this observing gentleman farther adds, that having
upon the occasion of my book proposed this to divers very
ingenious men, he hardly ever met with one that at first gave
the answer to it which he thinks true, till by hearing his reasons
they were convinced.]

9. But this is not, I think, usual in any of our ideas but those
received by sight; because sight, the most comprehensive of all
our senses, conveying to our minds the ideas of light and col-
ours, which are peculiar only to that sense; and also the far
different ideas of space, figure and motion, the several varieties
whereof change the appearances of its proper objects, viz., light
and colours; we bring ourselves by use to judge of the one by
the other. This, in many cases, by a settled habit in things
whereof wehave frequent experience, is performed so constantly
and so quick, that we take that for the perception of our sensa-
tion which is an idea formed by our judgment; so that one, viz.,

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 249

that of sensation, serves only to excite the other, and is scarce
taken notice of itself; as a man who reads or hears with atten-
tion and understanding, takes little notice of the characters or
sounds, but of the ideas that are excited in him by them.

15. Perception the inlet of knowledge. — Perception, then,
being the jirst step and degree towards knowledge, and the inlet
of all the materials of it, the fewer senses any man as well as any
other creature hath; and the fewer and duller the impressions
are that are made by them; and the duller the faculties are that
are employed about them, — the more remote are they from
that knowledge which is to be found in some men. But this,
being in great variety of degrees (as may be perceived amongst
men), cannot certainly be discovered in the several species of
animals, much less in their particular individuals. It suffices
me only to have remarked here, that perception is the first
operation* of all our intellectual faculties, and the inlet of all
knowledge into our minds. . . .

CHAPTER XII. OF COMPLEX IDEAS

1. Made by the mind out of simple ones. — We have hitherto
considered those ideas, in the reception whereof the mind is
only passive, which are those simple ones received from sensa-
tion and reflection before mentioned, whereof the mind cannot

-make one to itself, nor have any idea which does not wholly
consist of them. [But as the mind is wholly passive in the recep-
tion of all its simple ideas, so it exerts several acts of its own,
whereby out of its simple ideas, as the materials and founda-
tions of the rest, the other are framed. The acts of the mind

* The other operations of the mind discussed by Locke under simple ideas
are retention or memory, discerning, comparing, compounding, and abstraction.
He then concludes in part as follows: chap. xi, § 15. These are the beginnings
of human knowledge. — And thus I have given a short and, I think, true history
of the first beginnings of human knowledge, whence the mind has its first objects,
and by what steps it makes its progress to the laying in and storing up those
ideas out of which is to be framed all the knowledge it is capable of; wherein
I must appeal to experience and observation whether I am in the right: the best

way to come to truth being to examine things as really they are, and not to con-
clude they are as we fancy of ourselves, or have been taught by others to imagine.

250 JOHN LOCKE

. wherein it exerts its power over its simple ideas are chiefly these
three: (1) Combining several simple ideas into one compound
one; and thus all complex ideas are made. (2) The second is
bringing two ideas, whether simple or complex, together, and
setting them by one another, so as to take a view of them at
once, without uniting them into one; by which way it gets all
its ideas cf relations. (3) The third is separating them from all
other ideas that accompany them in their real existence; this
is called “abstraction”: and thus all its general ideas are made.
This shows man’s power and its way of operation to be much
the same in the material and intellectual world. For, the
materials in both being such as he has no power over, either to
make or destroy, all that man can do is either to unite them
together, or to set them by one another, or wholly separate
them. I shall here begin with the first of these in the considera-
tion of complex ideas, and come to the other two in their due
places.|* As simple ideas are observed to exist in several com-
binations united together, so the mind has a power to consider
several of them united together as one idea; and that not only
as they are united in external objects, but as itself has joined
them. Ideas thus made up of several simple ones put together I
call complex; such as are beauty, gratitude, a man, an army,

.the universe; which, though complicated of various simple ideas
or complex ideas made up of simple ones, yet are, when the
mind pleases, considered each by itself as one entire thing, and
signified by one name.

2. Made voluntarily. — In this faculty of repeating and join-
ing together its ideas, the mind has great power in varying and
multiplying the objects of its thoughts infinitely beyond what
sensation or reflection furnished it with; but all this still con-
fined to those simple ideas which it received from those two
sources, and which are the ultimate materials of all its composi-
tions. For, simple ideas are all from things themselves; and of
these the mind can have no more nor other than what are sug-
gested to it. It can have no other ideas of sensible qualities

* Brackets indicate deviations from the first edition of the Essay found by
A. C. Fraser in the three other editions of Locke’s lifetime.

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 251

than what come from without by the senses, nor any ideas of
other kind of operations of a thinking substance than what it
finds in itself: but when it has once got these simple ideas, it is
not confined barely to observation, and what offers itself from
without; it can, by its own power, put together those ideas it has,
and make new complex ones which it never received so united.

3. Are either modes, substances, or relations. — Complex
ideas, however compounded and decompounded, though their
number be infinite, and the variety endless wherewith they fill
and entertain the thoughts of men, yet I think they may be all
reduced under these three heads: 1. Modes. 2. Substances.
3. Relations.

4. Modes. — First. Modes I call such complex ideas which,
however compounded, contain not in them the supposition of
subsisting by themselves, but are considered as dependences on,
or affections of, substances; such are the ideas signified by the
words, “triangle, gratitude, murder,” &c. And if in this I use
the word “‘mode”’ in somewhat a different sense from its ordin-
ary signification, I beg pardon; it being unavoidable in dis-
courses differing from the ordinary received notions, either to
make new words or to use old words in somewhat a new signi-
fication: the latter whereof, in our present case, is perhaps the
more tolerable of the two.

5. Simple and mixed modes. — Of these modes there are two
sorts which deserve distinct consideration. First. There are
some which are only variations or different combinations of the
same simple idea, without the mixture of any other, as a dozen,
or score; which are nothing but the ideas of so many distinct
units added together: and these I call simple modes, as being
contained within the bounds of one simple idea. Secondly.
There are others compounded of simple ideas, of several kinds,
put together to make one complex one, e.g., beauty, consisting
of a certain composition of colour and figure, causing delight
in the beholder; theft, which, being the concealed change of the
possession of any thing, without the consent of the proprietor,
contains, as is visible, a combination of several ideas of several
kinds; and these I call mixed modes.

252 JOHN LOCKE

6. Substances single or collective. — Secondly. The ideas of
substances are such combinations of simple ideas as are taken
to represent distinct particular things subsisting by themselves,
in which the supposed or confused idea of substance, such as it
is, is always the first and chief. Thus, if to substance be joined
the simple idea of a certain dull, whitish colour, with certain
degrees of weight, hardness, ductility, and fusibility, we have
the idea of lead; and a combination of the ideas of a certain sort
of figure, with the powers of motion, thought, and reasoning,
joined to substance, make the ordinary idea of a man. Now of
substances also there are two sorts of ideas:—one of single
substances, as they exist separately, as of a man or a sheep; the
other of several of those put together, as an army of men or
flock of sheep — which collective ideas of several substances
thus put together, are as much each of them one single idea as
that of a man or an unit.

4. Relation. — Thirdly. The last sort of complex ideas is
that we call Relation, which consists in the consideration and
comparing one idea with another. Of these several kinds we
shall treat in their order.
~8. The abstrusest ideas from the two sources. —If we trace
the progress of our minds, and with attention observe how it
repeats, adds together, and unites its simple ideas received from
sensation or reflection, it will lead us farther than at first per-
haps we should have imagined. And I believe we shall find, if
we warily observe the originals of our notions, that even the
most abstruse ideas, how remote soever they:may seem from
sense, or from any operation of our own minds, are yet only
such as the understanding frames to itself, by repeating and
joining together ideas that it had either from objects of sense,
or from its own operations about them; so that those even large
and abstract ideas are derived from sensation or reflection,
being no other than what the mind, by the ordinary use of its
own faculties, employed about ideas received from objects of
sense, or from the operations it observes in itself about them,
may and does attain unto.

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 253

BOOK IV
CHAPTER I. OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL

1. Our Knowledge conversant about our Ideas. — Since the
mind, in all its thoughts and reasonings, hath no other imme-
diate object but its own ideas, which it alone does or can con-
template, it is evident that our knowledge is only conversant
about them.

2. Knowledge is the Perception of the Agreement or Disagree-
ment of two Ideas. — Knowledge, then, seems to me to be
nothing but the perception of the connexion and agreement,
or disagreement and repugnancy of any of our ideas. In this
alone it consists. Where this perception is, there is knowledge;
and where it is not, there, though we may fancy, guess, or
believe, yet we always come short of knowledge. For when we
know that white is not black, what do we else but perceive
that these two ideas do not agree? When we possess ourselves
with the utmost security of the demonstration, that the three
angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones, what do we
more but perceive, that equality to two right ones does neces-
sarily agree to, and is inseparable from the three angles of a
triangle?

3. This Agreement fourfold. — But to understand a little
more distinctly wherein this agreement or disagreement con-
sists, I think we may reduce it all to these four sorts:

I. Identity, or diversity.
II. Relation.

III. Co-existence, or necessary connexion.

IV. Real existence.

4. First, Of Identity, or Diversity. — First, As to the first
sort of agreement or disagreement, viz., identity or diversity.
It is the first act of the mind, when it has any sentiments or
ideas at all, to perceive its ideas; and so far as it perceives them,
to know each what it is, and thereby also to perceive their
difference, and that one is not another. This is so absolutely
necessary, that, without it, there could be no knowledge, no

254 JOHN LOCKE

reasoning, no imagination, no distinct thoughts at all. By this
the mind clearly and infallibly perceives each idea to agree
with itself, and to be what it is; and all distinct ideas to disagree,
i.e., the one not to be the other; and this it does without pains,
labour, or deduction; but at first view, by its natural power of
perception and distinction. And though men of art have
reduced this into those general rules, “what is, is,” and “‘it is
impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” for ready
application in all cases, wherein there may be occasion to
reflect it on: yet it is certain, that the first exercise of this
faculty is about particular ideas. A man infallibly knows, as
soon as ever he has them in his mind, that the ideas he calls
white and round are the very ideas they are, and that they are
not other ideas which he calls red or square. Nor can any
maxim or proposition in the world make him know it clearer or
surer than he did before, and without any such general rule.
This, then, is the first agreement or disagreement which the
mind perceives in its ideas, which it always perceives at first
sight: and if there ever happen any doubt about it, it will
always be found to be about the names, and not the ideas
themselves, whose identity and diversity will always be per-
ceived as soon and clearly as the ideas themselves are; nor can
it possibly be otherwise.

5. Secondly, Relative. — Secondly, The next sort of agree-
ment or disagreement the mind perceives in any of its ideas
may, I think, be called relative, and is nothing but the per-
ception of the relation between any two ideas, of what kind
soever, whether substances, modes, or any other. For, since
all distinct ideas must eternally be known not to be the same,
and so be universally and constantly denied one of another,
there could be no room for any positive knowledge at all, if
we could not perceive any relation between our ideas, and
find out the agreement or disagreement they have one with
another, in several ways the mind takes of comparing them.

6. Thirdly, Of Co-existence. — Thirdly, The third sort of
agreement or disagreement to be found in our ideas, which
the perception of the mind is employed about, is co-existence

CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 255,

or non-co-existence in the same subject; and this belongs par-
ticularly to substances. Thus, when we pronounce concerning
gold, that it is fixed, our knowledge of this truth amounts to no
more but this, that fixedness, or a power to remain in the fire
unconsumed, is an idea that always accompanies and is joined
with that particular sort of yellowness, weight, fusibility, malle-
ableness, and solubility in aq. regia, which make our complex
idea, signified by the word gold.

7. Fourthly. Of real Existence. — Fourthly, The fourth and
last sort is that of actual and real existence agreeing to any
idea. Within these four sorts of agreement or disagreement
is, I suppose, contained all the knowledge we have, or are.
capable of: for all the inquiries we can make concerning any
of our ideas, all that we know or can affirm concerning any of
them is, that it is, or is not, the same with some other; that it
does or does not always co-exist with some other idea in the
same subject; that it has this or that relation with some other
idea; or that it has a real existence without the mind. Thus,
blue is not yellow, is of identity: two triangles upon equal
bases between two parallels are equal, is of relation: iron is
susceptible of magnetical impressions, is of co-existence: God
is, is of real existence. Though identity and co-existence are
truly nothing but relations, yet they are such peculiar ways of
agreement or disagreement of our ideas, that they deserve well
to be considered as distinct heads, and not under relation in
general; since they are so different grounds of affirmation and
negation, as will easily appear to any one, who will but reflect
on what is said in several places of this essay. .. .

GEORGE BERKELEY
(1685-1753)
AN ESSAY TOWARDS A NEW THEORY OF VISION *

1. My design is (a) to shew the manner wherein we perceive
by sight the Distance, Magnitude, and Situation of objects;
also (b) to consider the difference there is betwixt the ideas of
Sight and Touch, and whether there be any idea common to
both senses.

2 Et is, I think, agreed by all that Distance of itself, and
immediately, cannot be seen. For distance being a line directed
endwise to the eye, it projects only one point in the fund of
the eye — which point remains invariably the same, whether
the distance be longer or shorter.

3. I find it also acknowledged that the estimate we make
of the distance of objects considerably remote is rather an act
of judgment grounded on experience than of sense. For ex-
ample, when I perceive a great number of intermediate objects,
such as houses, fields, rivers, and the like, which I have experi-
enced to take up a considerable space, I thence form a judg-
ment or conclusion, that the object I see beyond them is at a
great distance. Again, when an object appears faint and small
which at a near distance I have experienced to make a vigorous
and large appearance, I instantly conclude it to be far off. —
And this, it is evident, is the result of experience; without
which, from the faintness and littleness, I should not have
inferred anything concerning the distance of objects.

4. But, when an object is placed at so near a distance as
that the interval between the eyes bears any sensible propor-
tion to it, the opinion of speculative men is, that the two optic

* Dublin, 1709; Lond., 1711; ib., 1732, etc.

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 267

axes (the fancy that we see only with one eye at once being
exploded), concurring at the object, do there make an angle,
by means of which, according as it is greater or lesser, the
object is perceived to be nearer or farther off.

5. Betwixt which and the foregoing manner of estimating
distance there is this remarkable difference: — that, whereas
there was no apparent necessary connexion between small
distance and a large and strong appearance, or between great
distance and a little and faint appearance, there appears a
very necessary connexion between an obtuse angle and near
distance, and an acute angle and farther distance. It does not
in the least depend upon experience, but may be evidently
known by any one before he had experienced it, that the nearer
the concurrence of the optic axes the greater the angle, and the
remoter their concurrence is the lesser will be the angle com-
prehended by them.

6. There is another way, mentioned by optic writers,
whereby they will have us judge of those distances in respect
of which the breadth of the pupil hath any sensible bigness.
And that is the greater or lesser divergency of the rays, which,
issuing from the visible point, do fall on the pupil — that point
being judged nearest which is seen by most diverging rays,
and that remoter which is seen by less diverging rays; and so
on, the apparent distance still increasing, as the divergency of
the rays decreases, till at length it becomes infinite when the
rays that fall on the pupil are to sense parallel. And after this
manner it is said we perceive distance when we look only with
one eye.

7. In this case also it is plain we are not beholden to expe-
rience: it being a certain, necessary truth that, the nearer the
direct rays falling on the eye approach to a parallelism, the
farther off is the point of their intersection, or the visible point
from whence they flow.

8. Now, though the accounts here given of perceiving near
distance by sight are received for true, and accordingly made
use of in determining the apparent places of objects, they do

258 GEORGE BERKELEY

nevertheless seem to me very unsatisfactory, and that for these
following reasons: — :

9. First, It is evident that, when the mind perceives any
idea, not immediately and of itself, it must be by the means
of some other idea. Thus, for instance, the passions which
are in the mind of another are of themselves to me invisible.
I may nevertheless perceive them by sight, though not imme-
diately, yet by means of the colours they produce in the counte-
nance. We often see shame or fear in the looks of a man, by
perceiving the changes of his countenance to red or pale.

10. Moreover, it is evident that no idea which is not itself
perceived can be to me the means of perceiving any other idea.
If I do not perceive the redness or paleness of a man’s face
themselves, it is impossible I should perceive by them the
passions which are in his mind.

11. Now, from sect. ii., it is plain that distance is in its own
nature imperceptible, and yet it is perceived by sight. It
remains, therefore, that it be brought into view by means of
some other idea, that is itself immediately perceived in the act
of vision.

12. But those lines and angles by means whereof some
men pretend to explain the perception of distance, are them-:
selves not at all perceived, nor are they in truth ever thought
of by those unskilful in optics. I appeal to any one’s expe-
rience, whether, upon sight of an object, he computes its dis-
tance by the bigness of the angle made by the meeting of the
two optic axes? or whether he ever thinks of the greater or
lesser divergency of the rays which arrive from any point to
his pupil? nay, whether it be not perfectly impossible for him
to perceive by sense the various angles wherewith the rays,
according to their greater or lesser divergence, do fall on the
eye? Every one is himself the best judge of what he perceives,
and what not. In vain shall any man tell me, that I perceive
certain lines and angles which introduce into my mind the
various ideas of distance, so long as I myself am conscious
of no such thing.

13. Since therefore those angles and lines are not themselves

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 260

perceived by sight, it follows, from sect. x., that the mind does
not by them judge of the distance of objects.

14. Secondly, The truth of this assertion will be yet farther
evident to any one that considers those lines and angles have
no real existence in nature, being only an hypothesis framed
by the mathematicians, and by them introduced into optics
that they might treat of that science in a geometrical way.

15. The third and last reason I shall give for rejecting that
doctrine is, that though we should grant the real existence of
those optic angles, &c., and that it was possible for the mind to
perceive them, yet these principles would not be found suffi-
cient to explain the phenomena of distance, as shall be shewn
hereafter.

16. Now, it being already shewn that distance is suggested
to the mind, by the mediation of some other idea which is itself
perceived in the act of seeing, it remains that we inquire what
ideas or sensations there be that attend vision unto which we
may suppose the ideas of distance are connected, and by which
they are introduced into the mind.

And, first, it is certain by experience, that when we look at a
near object with both eyes, according as it approaches or
recedes from us, we alter the disposition of our eyes, by lessen-
ing or widening the interval between the pupils. This disposi-
tion or turn of the eyes is attended with a sensation, which
seems to me to be that which in this case brings the idea of
greater or lesser distance into the mind.

17. Not that there is any natural or necessary connexion
between the sensation we perceive by the turn of the eyes
and greater or lesser distance. But — because the mind has,
by constant experience, found the different sensations corre-
sponding to the different dispositions of the eyes to be attended
each with a different degree of distance in the object — there
has grown an habitual or customary connexion between those
two sorts of ideas; so that the mind no sooner perceives the
sensation arising from the different turn it gives the eyes, in
order to bring the pupils nearer or farther asunder, but it

260 GEORGE BERKELEY

withal perceives the different idea of distance which was wont:
to be connected with that sensation. Just as, upon hearing
a certain sound, the idea is immediately suggested to the
understanding which custom had united with it.

18. Nor do I see how I can easily be mistaken in this matter.
I know evidently that distance is not perceived of itself — that,
by consequence, it must be perceived by means of some other
idea, which is immediately perceived, and varies with the dif-
ferent degrees of distance. I know also that the sensation
arising from the turn of the eyes is of itself immediately per-
ceived, and various degrees thereof are connected with differ-
ent distances, which never fail to accompany them into my
mind, when I view an object distinctly with both eyes whose
distance is so small that in respect of it the interval between
the eyes has any considerable magnitude.

19. I know it is a received opinion that, by altering the
disposition of the eyes, the mind perceives whether the angle
of the optic axes, or the lateral angles comprehended between
the interval of the eyes or the optic axes, are made greater
or lesser; and that, accordingly, by a kind of natural geometry,
it judges the point of their intersection to be nearer or farther
off. But that this is not true I am convinced by my own experi-
ence, since I am not conscious that I make any such use of the
perception I have by the turn of my eyes. And for me to make
those judgments, and draw those conclusions from it, without
knowing that I do so, seems altogether incomprehensible.

20. From all which it follows, that the judgment we make
of the distance of an object viewed with both eyes is entirely
the result of experience. If we had not constantly found cer-
tain sensations, arising from the various dispositions of the
eyes, attended with certain degrees of distance, we should never
make those sudden judgments from them concerning the dis-
tance of objects; no more than we would pretend to judge of a
man’s thoughts by his pronouncing words we had never heard
before.

21. Secondly, an object placed at a certain distance from the
eye, to which the breadth of the pupil bears a considerable

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 261

proportion, being made to approach, is seen more confusedly.
And the nearer it is brought the more confused appearance it
makes. And, this being found constantly to be so, there arises
in the mind an habitual connexion between the several degrees
of confusion and distance; the greater confusion still imply-
ing the lesser distance, and the lesser confusion the greater
distance of the object.

22. This confused appearance of the object doth therefore
seem to be the medium whereby the mind judges of distance,
in those cases wherein the most approved writers of optics
will have it judge by the different divergency with which the
rays flowing from the radiating point fall on the pupil. No
man, I believe, will pretend to see or feel those imaginary angles
that the rays are supposed to form according to their various
inclinations on his eye. But he cannot choose seeing whether
the object appear more or less confused. It is therefore a
manifest consequence from what has been demonstrated that,
instead of the greater or lesser divergency of the rays, the mind
makes use of the greater or lesser confusedness of the appear-
ance, thereby to determine the apparent place of an object.

23. Nor doth it avail to say there is not any necessary con-
nexion between confused vision and distance great or small.
For I ask any man what necessary connexion he sees between
the redness of a blush and shame? And yet no sooner shall he
behold that colour to arise in the face of another but it brings
into his mind the idea of that passion which hath been ob-
served to accompany it.

24. What seems to have misled the writers of optics in this
matter is, that they imagine men judge of distance as they do
of a conclusion in mathematics; betwixt which and the pre-
mises it is indeed absolutely requisite there be an apparent,
necessary connexion. But it is far otherwise in the sudden
judgments men make of distance. We are not to think that
brutes and children, or even grown reasonable men, whenever
they perceive an object to approach or depart from them, do it
‘by virtue of geometry and demonstration.

25. That one idea may suggest another to the mind, it will

262 GEORGE BERKELEY

suffice that they have been observed to go together, without
any demonstration of the necessity of their coexistence, or
without so much as knowing what it is that makes them so to
coexist. Of this there are innumerable instances, of which no
one can be ignorant.

26. Thus, greater confusion having been constantly attended
with nearer distance, no sooner is the former idea perceived but
it suggests the latter to our thoughts. And, if it had been the
ordinary course of nature that the farther off an object were
placed the more confused it should appear, it is certain the very
same perception that now makes us think an object approaches
would then have made us to imagine it went farther off — that
perception, abstracting from custom and experience, being
equally fitted to produce the idea of great distance, or small
distance, or no distance at all.

27. Thirdly, an object being placed at the distance above
specified, and brought nearer to the eye, we may nevertheless
prevent, at least for some time, the appearance’s growing more
confused, by straining the eye. In which case that sensation
supplies the place of confused vision, in aiding the mind to
judge of the distance of the object; it being esteemed so much
the nearer by how much the effort or straining of the eye in
order to distinct vision is greater.

28. I have here set down those sensations of ideas that seem
to be the constant and general occasions of introducing into the
mind the different ideas of near distance. It is true, in most
cases, that divers other circumstances contribute to frame our
idea of distance, viz. the particular number, size, kind, &c. of
the things seen. Concerning which, as well as all other the fore-
mentioned occasions which suggest distance, I shall only
observe, they have none of them, in their own nature, any rela-
tion or connexion with it: nor is it possible they should ever
signify the various degrees thereof, otherwise than as by expe-
rience they have been found to be connected with them.

41. From what has been premised, it is a manifest conse-
quence, that a man born blind, being made to see, would at

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 263

first have no idea of Distance by sight: the sun and stars, the
remotest objects as well as the nearer, would all seem to be in
his eye, or rather in his mind. The objects intromitted by sight
would seem to him (as in truth they are) no other than a new
set of thoughts or sensations, each whereof is as near to him
as the perceptions of pain or pleasure, or the most inward
passions of his soul. For, our judging objects perceived by
sight to be at any distance, or without the mind, is (vid. sect.
28) entirely the effect of experience, which one in those cir-
cumstances could not yet have attained to.

42. It is indeed otherwise upon the common supposition —
that men judge of distance by the angle of the optic axes, just
as one in the dark, or a blind man by the angle comprehended
by two sticks, one whereof he held in his hand. For, if this
were true, it would follow that one blind from his birth, being
made to see, should stand in need of no new experience, in order
to perceive distance by sight. But that this is false has, I think,
been sufficiently demonstrated.

43. And perhaps, upon a strict inquiry, we shall not find
that even those who from their birth have grown up in a con-
tinued habit of seeing are irrecoverably prejudiced on the other
side, to wit, in thinking what they see to be at a distance from
them. For, at this time it seems agreed on all hands, by those
who have had any thoughts of that matter, that colours, which
are the proper and immediate object of sight, are not without the
mind. — But then, it will be said, by sight we have also the ideas
of extension, and figure, and motion; all which may well be
thought without and at some distance from the mind, though
colour should not. In answer to this, I appeal to any man’s
experience, whether the visible extension of any object do not
appear as near to him as the colour of that object; nay, whether
they do not both seem to be in the very same place. Is not the
extension we see coloured, and is it possible for us, so much as
in thought, to separate and abstract colour from extension?
Now, where the extension is, there surely is the figure, and
there the motion too. I speak of those which are perceived by
sight.

264 GEORGE BERKELEY

44. But, for a fuller explication of this point, and to shew
that the immediate objects of sight are not so much as the
ideas or resemblances of things placed at a distance, it is
requisite that we look nearer into the matter, and carefully
observe what is meant in common discourse when one says,
that which he sees is at a distance from him. Suppose, for
example, that looking at the moon I should say it were fifty
or sixty semidiameters of the earth distant from me. Let us
see what moon this is spoken of. It is plain it cannot be the
visible moon, or anything like the visible moon, or that which
I see — which is only a round luminous plain, of about thirty
visible points in diameter. For, in case I am carried from the
place where I stand directly towards the moon, it is manifest
the object varies still as I go on; and, by the time that I am
advanced fifty or sixty semidiameters of the earth, I shall be so
far from being near a small, round, luminous flat that I shall
perceive nothing like it — this object having long since disap-
peared, and, if I would recover it, it must be by going back to
the earth from whence I set out. Again, suppose I perceive by
sight the faint and obscure idea of something, which I doubt
whether it be a man, or a tree, ora tower, but judge it to be at
the distance of about a mile. It is plain I cannot mean that
what I see is a mile off, or that it is the image or likeness of any-
thing which is a mile off; since that every step I take towards
it the appearance alters, and from being obscure, small, and
faint, grows clear, large, and vigorous. And when I come to
the mile’s end, that which I saw first is quite lost, neither do I
find anything in the likeness of it.

45. In these and the like instances, the truth of the matter,
I find, stands thus: — Having of a long time experienced cer-
tain ideas perceivable by touch — as distance, tangible figure,
and solidity — to have been connected with certain ideas of
sight, I do, upon perceiving these ideas of sight, forthwith con-
clude what tangible ideas are, by the wonted ordinary course
of nature, like to follow. Looking at an object, I perceive a
certain visible figure and colour, with some degree of faintness
and other circumstances, which, from what I have formerly

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 265

observed, determine me to think that if I advance forward so
many paces, miles, &c., I shall be affected with such and such
ideas of touch. So that, in truth and strictness of speech, I
neither see distance itself, nor anything that I take to be at a
distance. I say, neither distance nor things placed at a distance
are themselves, or their ideas, truly perceived by sight. This
I am persuaded of, as to what concerns myself. And I believe
whoever will look narrowly into his own thoughts, and examine
what he means by saying he sees this or that thing at a dis-
tance, will agree with me, that what he sees only suggests to his
understanding that, after having passed a certain distance, to
be measured by the motion of his body, which is perceivable by
touch, he shall come to perceive such and such tangible ideas,
which have been usually connected with such and such visible
ideas. But, that one might be deceived by these suggestions
of sense, and that there is no necessary connexion between
visible and tangible ideas suggested by them, we need go no
farther than the next looking-glass or picture to be convinced.
— Note that, when I speak of tangible ideas, I take the word
idea for any immediate object of sense or understanding — in
which large signification it is commonly used by the moderns.

46. From what we have shewn, it is a manifest consequence
that the ideas of Space, Outness, and things placed at a dis-
tance are not, strictly speaking, the object of sight; they are
not otherwise perceived by the eye than by the ear. Sitting
in my study I hear a coach drive along the street; I look.
through the casement and see it; I walk out and enter into it.
Thus, common speech would incline one to think I heard, saw,
and touched the same thing, to wit, the coach. It is neverthe-
less certain the ideas intromitted by each sense are widely
different, and distinct from each other; but, having been ob-
served constantly to go together, they are spoken of as one and
the same thing. By the variation of the noise, I perceive the
different distances of the coach, and know that it approaches
before I look out. Thus, by the ear I perceive distance just
after the same manner as I do by the eye.

47. I do not nevertheless say I hear distance, in like manner

266 GEORGE BERKELEY

as I say that I see it — the ideas perceived by hearing not
being so apt to be confounded with the ideas of touch as those
of sight are. So likewise a man is easily convinced that bodies
and external things are not properly the object of hearing, but
only sounds, by the mediation whereof the idea of this or that
body, or distance, is suggested to his thoughts. But then one
is with more difficulty brought to discern the difference there is
betwixt the ideas of sight and touch: though it be certain, a
man no more sees and feels the same thing, than he hears and
feels the same thing.

48. One reason of which seems to be this. It is thought a
great absurdity to imagine that one and the same thing should
have any more than one extension and one figure. But, the
extension and figure of a body being let into the mind two ways,
and that indifferently, either by sight or touch, it seems to fol-
low that we see the same extension and the same figure which
we feel.

49. But, if we take a close and accurate view of the matter,
it must be acknowledged that we never see and feel one and the
same object. That which is seen is one thing, and that which is
felt is another. If the visible figure and extension be not the
same with the tangible figure and extension, we are not to infer
that one and the same thing has divers extensions. The true
consequence is that the objects of sight and touch are two dis-
tinct things. It may perhaps require some thought rightly to
conceive this distinction. And the difficulty seems not a little
increased, because the combination of visible ideas hath con-
stantly the same name as the combination of tangible ideas
wherewith it is connected — which doth of necessity arise from
the use and end of language.

50. In order, therefore, to treat accurately and unconfusedly
of vision, we must bear in mind that there are two sorts of
objects apprehended by the eye—the one primarily and
immediately, the other secondarily and by intervention of the
former. Those of the first sort neither are nor appear to be
without the mind, or at any distance off. They may, indeed,
grow greater or smaller, more confused, or more clear, or more

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 267

faint. But they do not, cannot approach or recede from us.
Whenever we say an object is at a distance, whenever we say
it draws near, or goes farther off, we must always mean it of
the latter sort, which properly belong to the touch, and are not
so truly perceived as suggested by the eye, in like manner as
thoughts by the ear.

51. No sooner do we hear the words of a familiar language
pronounced in our ears but the ideas corresponding thereto
present themselves to our minds: in the very same instant
the sound and the meaning enter the understanding: so closely
are they united that it is not in our power to keep out the one
except we exclude the other also. We even act in all respects
as if we heard the very thoughts themselves. So likewise the
secondary objects, or those which are only suggested by sight,
do often more strongly affect us, and are more regarded, than
the proper objects of that sense; along with which they enter
into the mind, and with which they have a far more strict
connexion than ideas have with words. Hence it is we find it
so difficult to discriminate between the immediate and mediate
objects of sight, and are so prone to attribute to the former
what belongs only to the latter. They are, as it were, most
closely twisted, blended, and incorporated together. And the
prejudice is confirmed and riveted in our thoughts by a long
tract of time, by the use of language, and want of reflection.
However, I doubt not but any one that shall attentively con-
sider what we have already said, and shall say upon this sub-
ject before we have done (especially if he pursue it in his own
thoughts), may be able to deliver himself from that prejudice.
Sure lam, itis worth some attention to whoever would under-
stand the true nature of vision.

52. I have now done with distance, and proceed to shew
how it is that we perceive by sight the Magnitude of objects.
It is the opinion of some that we do it by angles, or by angles
in conjunction with distance. But, neither angles nor distance
being perceivable by sight, and the things we see being in truth
at no distance from us, it follows that, as we have shewn lines

268 GEORGE BERKELEY

and angles not to be the medium the mind makes use of in
apprehending the apparent place, so neither are they the
‘medium whereby it apprehends the apparent magnitude of
objects.

53. It is well known that the same extension at a near dis-
tance shall subtend a greater angle, and at a farther distance a
lesser angle. And by this principle (we are told) the mind esti-
mates the magnitude of:an object, comparing the angle under
which it is seen with its distance, and thence inferring the
magnitude thereof. What inclines men to this mistake (beside
the humour of making one see by geometry) is, that the same
perceptions or ideas which suggest distance do also suggest
magnitude. But, if we examine it, we shall find they suggest
the latter as immediately as the former. I say, they do not first
suggest distance and then leave it to the judgment to use that
as a medium whereby to collect the magnitude; but they have
as close and immediate a connexion with the magnitude as with
the distance; and suggest magnitude as independently of dis-
tance, as they do distance independently of magnitude. All
which will be evident to whoever considers what has been
already said and what follows.

54. It has been shown there are two sorts of objects appre-
hended by sight, each whereof has its distinct magnitude, or
extension — the one, properly tangible, z.e. to be perceived and
measured by touch, and not immediately falling under the
sense of seeing; the other, properly and immediately visible,
by mediation of which the former is brought in view. Each ~
of these magnitudes are greater or lesser, according as they
contain in them more or fewer points, they being made up of
points or minimums. For, whatever may be said of extension
in abstract, it is certain sensible extension is not infinitely divi-
sible. There is a minimum tangibile, and a minimum visibile,
beyond which sense cannot perceive. This every one’s experi-
ence will inform him.

55. The magnitude of the object which exists without the
mind, and is at a distance, continues always invariably the
same: but, the visible object still changing as you approach

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 269

to or recede from the tangible object, it hath no fixed and deter-
minate greatness. Whenever therefore we speak of the magni-
tude of any thing, for instance a tree or a house, we must mean
the tangible magnitude; otherwise there can be nothing steady
and free from ambiguity spoken of it. Now, though the tangi-
ble and visible magnitude do in truth belong to two distinct
objects, I shall nevertheless (especially since those objects are
called by the same name, and are observed to coexist), to avoid
tediousness and singularity of speech, sometimes speak of them
as belonging to one and the same thing.

56. Now, in order to discover by what means the magni-
tude of tangible objects is perceived by sight, I need only reflect
on what passes in my own mind, and observe what those things
be which introduce the ideas of greater or lesser into my
thoughts when I look on any object. And these I find to be,
jirst, the magnitude or extension of the visible object, which,
being immediately perceived by sight, is connected with that
other which is tangible and placed at a distance: secondly, the
confusion or distinctness: and thirdly, the vigorousness or faint-
ness of the aforesaid visible appearance. Ceteris paribus, by
how much the greater or lesser the visible object is, by so much
the greater or lesser do I conclude the tangible object to be.
But, be the idea immediately perceived by sight never so large,
yet, if it be withal confused, I judge the magnitude of the thing
to be but small. If it be distinct and clear, I judge it greater.
And, if it be faint, I apprehend it to be yet greater... .

57. Moreover, the judgments we make of greatness do, in
like manner as those of distance, depend on the disposition of
the eye; also on the figure, number, and situation of inter-
mediate objects, and other circumstances that have been ob-
served to attend great or small tangible magnitudes. Thus,
for instance, the very same quantity of visible extension which
in the figure of a tower doth suggest the idea of great magni-
tude shall in the figure of a man suggest the idea of much smaller
magnitude. That this is owing to the experience we have had
of the usual bigness of a tower and a man, no one, I suppose,
need be told.

270 GEORGE BERKELEY

58. It is also evident that confusion or faintness have no
more a necessary connexion with little or great magnitude
than they have with little or great distance. As they suggest
the latter, so they suggest the former to our minds. And, by
consequence, if it were not for experience, we should no more
judge a faint or confused appearance to be connected with
great or little magnitude than we should that it was connected
with great or little distance.

63. Moreover, it is not only certain that any idea of sight
might not have been connected with this or that idea of touch
we now observe to accompany it, but also that the greater
visible magnitudes might have been connected with and
introduced into our minds lesser tangible magnitudes, and
the lesser visible magnitudes greater tangible magnitudes.
Nay, that it actually is so, we have daily experience — that
object which makes a strong and large appearance not seem-
ing near so great as another the visible magnitude whereof is
much less, but more faint, and the appearance upper, or which
is the same thing, painted lower on the retina, which faintness
and situation suggest both greater magnitude and greater
distance.

64. From which, and from sect. 57 and 58, it is manifest
that, as we do not perceive the magnitude of objects immedi-
ately by sight, so neither do we perceive them by the media-
tion of anything which has a necessary connexion with them.
Those ideas that now suggest unto us the various magnitudes
of external objects before we touch them might possibly have
suggested no such thing; or they might have signified them
in a direct contrary manner, so that the very same ideas on
the perception whereof we judge an object to be small might
as well have served to make us conclude it great; — those
ideas being in their own nature equally fitted to bring into
our minds the idea of small or great, or no size at all, of outward
objects, just as the words of any language are in their own
nature indifferent to signify this or that thing, or nothing at all.

65. As we see distance so we see magnitude. And we see
both in the same way that we see shame or anger in the looks

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 271

of a man. Those passions are themselves invisible; they are
nevertheless let in by the eye along with colours and altera-
tions of countenance which are the immediate object of vision,
and which signify them for no other reason than barely because
they have been observed to accompany them. Without which
experience we should no more have taken blushing for a sign
of shame than of gladness.

66. We are nevertheless exceedingly prone to imagine those
things which are perceived only by the mediation of others to
be themselves the immediate objects of sight, or at least to
have in their own nature a fitness to be suggested by them
before ever they had been experienced to coexist with them.
From which prejudice every one perhaps will not find it easy
to emancipate himself, by any the clearest convictions of
reason. And there are some grounds to think that, if there
was one only invariable and universal language in the world,
and that men were born with the faculty of speaking it, it
would be the opinion of some, that the ideas in other men’s
minds were properly perceived by the ear, or had at least a
necessary and inseparable tie with the sounds which were
affixed to them. All which seems to arise from want of a due
application of our discerning faculty, thereby to discriminate
between the ideas that are in our understandings, and consider
them apart from each other; which would preserve us from
confounding those that are different, and make us see what
ideas do, and what do not, include or imply this or that other
idea.

77. [!For the further clearing up of this point, it is to be
observed, that what we immediately and properly see are only
lights and colours in sundry situations and shades, and degrees
of faintness and clearness, confusion and distinctness. All
which visible objects are only in the mind; nor do they suggest
aught external, whether distance or magnitude, otherwise than
by habitual connexion, as words do things. We are also to
remark, that beside the straining of the eyes, and beside the

1 What follows in this section is not in the first edition. .

272 GEORGE BERKELEY

vivid and faint, the instinct and confused appearances (which,
bearing some proportion to lines and angles, have been sub-
stituted instead of them in the foregoing part of this Treatise),
there are other means which suggest both distance and magni-
tude — particularly the situation of visible points or objects,
as upper or lower; the former suggesting a farther distance and
greater magnitude, the latter a nearer distance and lesser mag-
nitude — all which is an effect only of custom and experience,
there being really nothing intermediate in the line of distance
between the uppermost and the lowermost, which are both
equidistant, or rather at no distance from the eye; as there is
also nothing in upper or lower which by necessary connexion
should suggest greater or lesser magnitude. Now, as these cus-
tomary experimental means of suggesting distance do likewise
suggest magnitude, so they suggest the one as immediately as
the other. I say, they do not (Vid. sect. 53) first suggest dis-
tance, and then leave the mind from thence to infer or compute
magnitude, but suggest magnitude as immediately and directly
as they suggest distance.]

78. This phenomenon of the horizontal moon is a clear
instance of the insufficiency of lines and angles for explaining
the way wherein the mind perceives and estimates the magni-
tude of outward objects. There is, nevertheless, a use of com-
putation by them — in order to determine the apparent mag-
nitude of things, so far as they have a connexion with and are
proportional to those other ideas or perceptions which are the
true and immediate occasions that suggest to the mind the
apparent magnitude of things. But this in general may, I
think, be observed concerning mathematical computation in
optics — that it can never be very precise and exact, since the
judgments we make of the magnitude of external things do
often depend on several circumstances which are not propor-
tional to or capable of being defined by lines and angles.

79. From what has been said, we may safely deduce this
consequence, to wit, that a man born blind, and made to see,
would, at first opening of his eyes, make a very different judg-
ment of the magnitude of objects intromitted by them from

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 273

what others do. He would not consider the ideas of sight with
reference to, or as having any connexion with the idea of touch.
His view of them being entirely terminated within themselves,
he can no otherwise judge them great or small than as they
contain a greater or lesser number of visible points. Now, it
being certain that any visible point can cover or exclude from
view only one other visible point, it follows that whatever
object intercepts the view of another hath an equal number
of visible points with it; and, consequently, they shall both
be thought by him to have the same magnitude. Hence, it is
evident one in those circumstances would judge his thumb,
with which he might hide a tower, or hinder its being séen, equal
to that tower; or his hand, the interposition whereof might con-
ceal the firmament from his view, equal to the firmament: how
great an inequality soever there may, in our apprehensions,
seem to be betwixt those two things, because of the customary
and close connexion that has grown up in our minds between
the objects of sight and touch, whereby the very different and
distinct ideas of those two senses are so blended and con-
founded together as to be mistaken for one and the same thing
— out of which prejudice we cannot easily extricate ourselves.

127. It having been shewn that there are no abstract ideas
of figure, and that it is impossible for us, by any precision of
thought, to frame an idea of extension separate from all other
visible and tangible qualities, which shall be common both to
sight and touch — the question now remaining is, Whether
the particular extensions, figures, and motions perceived by
sight, be of the same kind with the particular extensions, figures,
and motions perceived by touch? In answer to which I shall
venture to lay down the following proposition: — The exten-
sion, figures, and motions perceived by sight are specifically dis-
tinct from the ideas of touch, called by the same names; nor is there
any such thing as one idea, or kind of idea, common to both
senses. This proposition may, without much difficulty, be col-
lected from what hath been said in several places of this Essay.
But, because it seems so remote from, and contrary to the

274 GEORGE BERKELEY

received notions and settled opinion of mankind, I shall at-
tempt to demonstrate it more particularly and at large by the
following arguments: —

128. First, When, upon perception of an idea, I range it
under this or that sort, it is because it is perceived after the
same manner, or because it has likeness or conformity with,
or affects me in the same way as the ideas of the sort I rank
it under. In short, it must not be entirely new, but have some-
thing in it old and already perceived by me. It must, I say,
have so much, at least, in common with the ideas I have before
known and named, as to make me give it the same name with
them. But, it has been, if I mistake not, clearly made out that
a man born blind would not, at first reception of his sight, think
the things he saw were of the same nature with the objects of
touch, or had anything in common with them; but that they
were a new set of ideas, perceived in a new manner, and en-
tirely different from all he had ever perceived before. So that
he would not call them by the same name, nor repute them
to be of the same sort, with anything he had hitherto known.
' 129. Secondly, Light and colours are allowed by all to con-
stitute a sort or species entirely different from the ideas of
touch; nor will any man, I presume, say they can make them-
selves perceived by that sense. But there is no other immediate
_ object of sight besides light and colours. It is therefore a direct
consequence, that there is no idea common to both senses.

130. It is a prevailing opinion, even amongst those who
have thought and writ most accurately concerning our ideas,
and the ways whereby they enter into the understanding, that
something more is perceived by sight than barely light and
colours with their variations. Mr. Locke termeth sight ‘the
most comprehensive of all our senses, conveying to our minds
the ideas of light and colours, which are peculiar only to that
sense; and also the far different ideas of space, figure, and
motion.’ (Essay on Human Understanding, b. II. ch. 9. s. 9.)
Space or distance, we have shewn, is no otherwise the object
of sight than of hearing. (Vid. sect. 46.) And, as for figure
and extension, I leave it to any one that shall calmly attend

A NEW THEORY OF VISION 275

to his own clear and distinct ideas to decide whether he had
any idea intromitted immediately and properly by sight save
only light and colours: or, whether it be possible for him to
frame in his mind a distinct abstract idea of visible extension, or
figure, exclusive of all colour; and, on the other hand, whether
he can conceive colour without visible extension?. For my
own part, I must confess, Iam not able to attain so great a
nicety of abstraction. I know very well that, in a strict sense,
I see nothing but light and colours, with their several shades
and variations. He who beside these doth also perceive by
sight ideas far different and distinct from them, hath that
faculty in a degree more perfect and comprehensive than I can
pretend to. It must be owned, indeed, that, by the mediation
of light and colours, other far different ideas are suggested to my
mind. But then, upon this score, I see no reason why sight
should be thought more ‘comprehensive’ than the hearing,
which, beside sounds which are peculiar to that sense, doth, by
their mediation, suggest not only space, figure, and motion, but
also all other ideas whatsoever that can be signified by words.

131. Thirdly, It is, I think, an axiom universally received,
that ‘quantities of the same kind may be added together and
make one entire sum.’ Mathematicians add lines together; but
they do not add a line to a solid, or conceive it as making one
sum with a surface. These three kinds of quantity being
thought incapable of any such mutual addition, and conse-
quently of being compared together in the several ways of
proportion, are by them for that reason esteemed entirely
disparate and heterogeneous. Now let any one try in his
thoughts to add a visible line or surface to a tangible line or
surface, so as to conceive them making one continued sum or
whole. He that can do this may think them homogeneous;
but he that cannot must, by the foregoing axiom, think them
heterogeneous. A blue and a red line I can conceive added
together into one sum and making one continued line; but,
to make, in my thoughts, one continued line of a visible and
tangible line added together, is, I find, a task far more diffi-
cult, and even insurmountable — and [I leave it to the reflec-

276 GEORGE BERKELEY

tion and experience of every particular person to determine for
himself.

132. A farther confirmation of our tenet may be drawn
from the solution of Mr. Molyneux’s problem, published by
. Mr. Locke in his Essay: which I shall set down as it there lies,
together with Mr. Locke’s opinion of it: — ‘Suppose a man
born blind, and now adult, and taught by his touch to distin-
guish between a cube and a sphere of the same metal, and
nighly of the same bigness, so as to tell when he felt one and
the other, which is the cube, and which the sphere. Suppose
then the cube and sphere placed on a table, and the blind man
made to see: Quere, Whether by his sight, before he touched
them, he could now distinguish, and tell, which is the globe,
which the cube. To which the acute and judicious proposer
answers: Not. For, though he has obtained the experience of
how a globe, how a cube affects his touch; yet he has not yet
attained the experience, that what affects his touch so or so
must affect his sight so or so: or that a protuberant angle in the
cube, that pressed his hand unequally, shall appear to his eye
as it doth in the cube. I agree with this thinking gentleman,
' whom I am proud to call my friend, in his answer to this his
problem; and am of opinion that the blind man, at first sight,
would not be able with certainty to say, which was the globe,
which the cube, whilst he only saw them.’ (Locke’s Essay on
Human Understanding, b. II. ch. 9. s. 8.7)

133. Now, if a square surface perceived by touch be of the
same sort with a square surface perceived by sight, it is certain
the blind man here mentioned might know a square surface
as soon as he saw it. It is no more but introducing into his
mind, by a new inlet, an idea he has been already well ac-
quainted with. Since therefore he is supposed to have known
by his touch that a cube is a body terminated by square sur-
faces; and that a sphere is not terminated by square surfaces
— upon the supposition that a visible and tangible square differ
only in numero, it follows that he might know, by the unerring

1 See Leibnitz (Nouveaux Essais, liv. II. ch. 9), who disputes the alleged
heterogeneity.

A NEW THEORY OF VISION —_277

mark of the square surfaces, which was the cube, and which not,
while he only saw them. We must therefore allow, either that
visible extension and figures are specifically distinct from tangi-
ble extension and figures, or else, that the solution of this prob-
lem, given by those two thoughtful and ingenious men, is
wrong.

134. Much more might be laid together in proof of the pro-
position I have advanced. But, what has been said is, if I mis-
take not, sufficient to convince any one that shall yield a
reasonable attention. And, as for those that will not be at the
pains of a little thought, no multiplication of words will ever
suffice to make them understand the truth, or rightly conceive
my meaning.

135. I cannot let go the above-mentioned problem without
some reflection on it. It hath been made evident that a man
blind from his birth would not, at first sight, denominate any-
thing he saw, by the names he had been used to appropriate
to ideas of touch. (Vid. sect. 106.) Cube, sphere, table are
words he has known applied to things perceivable by touch,
but to things perfectly intangible he never knew them applied.
Those words, in their wonted application, always marked out
to his mind bodies or solid things which were perceived by the
resistance they gave. But there is no solidity, no resistance or
protrusion, perceived by sight. In short, the ideas of sight are
all new perceptions, to which there be no names annexed in his
mind; he cannot therefore understand what is said to him con-
cerning them. And, to ask of the two bodies he saw placed on
the table, which was the sphere, which the cube, were to him a
question downright bantering and unintelligible; nothing he
sees being able to suggest to his thoughts the idea of body, dis-
tance, or, in general, of anything he had already known.

136. It is a mistake to think the same thing affects both
sight and touch. If the same angle or square which is the
object of touch be also the object of vision, what should hinder
the blind man, at first sight, from knowing it? For, though
the manner wherein it affects the sight be different from that
wherein it affected his touch, yet, there being, beside this man-

278 GEORGE BERKELEY

ner of circumstance, which is new and unknown, the angle or
figure, which is old and known, he cannot choose but discern it.

147. Upon the whole, I think we may fairly conclude that
the proper objects of vision constitute the Universal Language
of Nature, whereby we are instructed how to regulate our
actions, in order to attain those things that are necessary to
the preservation and well-being of our bodies, as also to avoid
whatever may be hurtful and destructive of them. It is by their
information that we are principally guided in all the transac-
tions and concerns of life. And the manner wherein they sig-
nify and mark out unto us the objects which are at a distance
is the same with that of languages and signs of human appoint-
ment; which do not suggest the things signified by any likeness
or identity of nature, but only by an habitual connexion that
experience has made us to observe between them.

148. Suppose one who had always continued blind be told
by his guide that after he has advanced so many steps he
shall come to the brink of a precipice, or be stopped by a wall;
must not this to him seem very admirable and surprising?
He cannot conceive how it is possible for mortals to frame such
predictions as these, which to him would seem as strange and
unaccountable as prophecy does to others. Even they who
are blessed with the visive faculty may (though familiarity
make it less observed) find therein sufficient cause of admira-
tion. The wonderful art and contrivance wherewith it is ad-
justed to those ends and purposes for which it was apparently
designed; the vast extent, number, and variety of objects that
are at once, with so much ease, and quickness, and pleasure,
suggested by it — all these afford subject for much and pleasing
speculation, and may, if anything, give us some glimmering
analogous prenotion of things, that are placed beyond the
certain discovery and comprehension of our present state.

DAVID HUME
(1711-1766) |
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE*

BOOK I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING

PART I. OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION,
CONNEXION, &C.

SECTION I. OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS

ALL the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves
into two distinct kinds, which I shall call Impressions and
IpEAs. The difference betwixt these consists in the degrees
of force and liveliness with which they strike upon the mind,
and make their way into our thought or consciousness. Those
perceptions, which enter with most force and violence, we may
name impressions; and under this name I comprehend all our
sensations, passions and emotions, as they make their first
appearance in the soul. By zdeas I mean the faint images of
these in thinking and reasoning; such as, for instance, are all
the perceptions excited by the present discourse, excepting only
those which arise from the sight and touch, and excepting the
immediate pleasure or uneasiness it may occasion. I believe it
will not be very necessary to employ many words in explaining
this distinction. Every one of himself will readily perceive the
difference betwixt feeling and thinking. The common degrees
of these are easily distinguished; tho’ it is not impossible but
in particular instances they may very nearly approach to each
other. Thus in sleep, in a fever, in madness, or in any very

* London, 1739-40; 20., 1817; edit. with analytical index by T. Selby-Bigge,

Oxford, 1388; edit. with preliminary dissertations and notes by T. H. Green and
T. H. Grose, 2 vols., Lond., 1874; new ed. 7b., 1888.

280 DAVID HUME

violent emotions of soul, our ideas may approach to our im-
pressions: As on the other hand it sometimes happens, that our
impressions are so faint and low, that we cannot distinguish
them from our ideas. But notwithstanding this near resem-
blance in a few instances, they are in general so very different,
that no-one can make a scruple to rank them under distinct
heads, and assign to each a peculiar name to mark the differ-
ence.’

There is another division of our perceptions, which it will
be convenient to observe, and which extends itself both to our
impressions and ideas. This division is into SimpLE and Com-
PLEX. Simple perceptions or impressions and ideas are such as
admit of no distinction or separation. The complex are the
contrary to these, and may be distinguished into parts. Tho’
a particular colour, taste, and smell are qualities all united
together in this apple, ’t is easy to perceive they are not the
same, but are at least distinguishable from each other.

Having by these divisions given an order and arrangement
to our objects, we may now apply ourselves to consider with
the more accuracy their qualities and relations. The first cir-
cumstance, that strikes my eye, is the great resemblance
betwixt our impressions and ideas in every other particular,
except their degree of force and vivacity. The one seem to be
in a manner the reflexion of the other; so that all the percep-
tions of the mind are double, and appear both as impressions
and ideas. When I shut my eyes and think of my chamber, the
ideas I form are exact representations of the impressions I felt;
nor is there any circumstance of the one, which is not to be found
in the other. In running over my other perceptions, I find still
the same resemblance and representation. Ideas and impres-
sions appear always to correspond to each other. This circum-

1 T here make use of these terms, zmpression and idea, in a sense different from
what is usual, and I hope this liberty will be allowed me. Perhaps I rather restore
the word, idea, to its original sense, from which Mr. Locke had perverted it, in
making it stand for all our perceptions. By the term of impression I would not be
understood to express the manner, in which our lively perceptions are produced
in the soul, but merely the perceptions themselves; for which there is no particu-
lar name either in the English or any other language, that I know of. ZA

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 281

stance seems to me remarkable, and engages my attention for
a moment.

Upon a moreaccurate survey I find I have been carried away
too far by the first appearance, and that I must make use of the
distinction of perceptions into simple and complex, to limit this
general decision, that all our ideas and impressions are resem-
bling. I observe, that many of our complex ideas never had
impressions, that corresponded to them, and that many of our
complex impressions never are exactly copied in ideas. I can
imagine to myself such a city as the New Jerusalem, whose
pavement is gold and walls are rubies, tho’ I never saw any
such. I have seen Paris; but shall I affirm I can form such an
idea of that city, as will perfectly represent all its streets and
houses in their real and just proportions?

I perceive, therefore, that tho’ there is in general a great
resemblance betwixt our complex impressions and ideas, yet
the rule is not universally true, that they are exact copies of
each other. We may next consider how the case stands with
our simple perceptions. After the most accurate examination,
of which I am capable, I venture to affirm, that the rule here
holds without any exception, and that every simple idea has a
simple impression, which resembles it; and every simple impres-
sion a correspondent idea. That idea of red, which we form in
the dark, and that impression, which strikes our eyes in sun-
shine, differ only in degree, not in nature. That the case is the
same with all our simple impressions and ideas, ’t is impossible
to prove by a particular enumeration of them. Every one may
satisfy himself in this point by running over as many as he
pleases. But if any one should deny this universal resemblance,
I know no way of convincing him, but by desiring him to shew
a simple impression, that has not a correspondent idea, or a
simple idea, that has not a correspondent impression. If he
does not answer this challenge, as ’t is certain he cannot, we
may from his silence and our own observation establish our
conclusion.

Thus we find, that all simple ideas and impressions resem-
ble each other; and as the complex are formed from them, we

282 DAVID HUME

may affirm in general, that these two species of perception are
exactly correspondent. Having discover’d this relation, which
requires no farther examination, I am curious to find some
other of their qualities. Let us consider how they stand with
regard to their existence, and which of the impressions and
ideas are causes, and which effects.

The full examination of this question is the subject of the
present treatise; and therefore we shall here content ourselves
with establishing one general proposition, That all our simple
ideas in their first appearance are deriv’d from simple impressions,
which are correspondent to them, and which they exactly represent.

In seeking for phenomena to prove this proposition, I find
only those of two kinds; but in each kind the phenomena are
obvious, numerous, and conclusive. I first make myself cer-
tain, by a new review, of what I have already asserted, that
every simple impression is attended with a correspondent idea,
and every simple idea with a correspondent impression. From
this constant conjunction of resembling perceptions I immedi-
ately conclude, that there is a great connexion betwixt our cor-
respondent impressions and ideas, and that the existence of the
one has a considerable influence upon that of the other. Such a
constant conjunction, in such an infinite number of instances,
can never arise from chance; but clearly proves a dependence
of the impressions on the ideas, or of the ideas on the impres-
sions. That I may know on which side this dependence lies,
I consider the order of their first appearance; and find by con-
stant experience, that the simple impressions always take the
precedence of their correspondent ideas, but never appear in
the contrary order. To give a child an idea of scarlet or orange,
of sweet or bitter, I present the objects, or in other words, con-
vey to him these impressions; but proceed not so absurdly, as
to endeavour to produce the impressions by exciting the ideas.
Our ideas upon their appearance produce not their correspond-
ent impressions, nor do we perceive any colour, or feel any sen-
sation merely upon thinking of them. On the other hand we find
that any impression either of the mind or body is constantly
followed by an idea, which resembles it, and is only different

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE = 283

in the degrees of force and liveliness. The constant conjunction
of our resembling perceptions, is a convincing proof, that the
one are the causes of the other; and this priority of the impres-
sions is an equal proof, that our impressions are the causes of
our ideas, not our ideas of our impressions.

To confirm this I consider another plain and convincing
phenomenon; which is, that where-ever by any accident the
faculties, which give rise to any impressions, are obstructed
in their operations, as when one is born blind or deaf; not only
the impressions are lost, but also their correspondent ideas;
so that there never appear in the mind the least traces of either
of them. Nor is this only true, where the organs of sensation are
entirely destroy’d, but likewise where they have never been put
in action to produce a particular impression. We cannot form
to ourselves a just idea of the taste of a pine-apple, without
having actually tasted it.

There is however one contradictory phenomenon, which
may prove, that ’t is not absolutely impossible for ideas to go
before their correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily
be allow’d, that the several distinct ideas of colours, which
enter by the eyes, or those of sounds, which are convey’d by
the hearing, are really different from each other, tho’ at the
same time resembling. Now if this be true of different colours,
it must be no less so of the different shades of the same colour,
that each of them produces a distinct idea, independent of the
rest. For if this shou’d be deny’d, ’t is possible, by the con-
tinual gradation of shades, to run a colour insensibly into what
is most remote from it; and if you will not allow any of the
means to be different, you cannot without absurdity deny the
extremes to be the same. Suppose therefore a person to have
enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have become per-
fectly well acquainted with colours of all kinds, excepting one
particular shade of blue, for instance, which it never has been
his fortune to meet with. Let all the different shades of that
colour, except that single one, be plac’d before him, descending
gradually from the deepest to the lightest; ’t is plain, that he
will perceive a blank, where that shade is wanting, and will be

284. DAVID HUME

sensible, that there is a greater distance in that place betwixt
the contiguous colours, than in any other. Now I ask, whether
’t is possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this
deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that particular
shade, tho’ it had never been conveyed to him by his senses?
I believe there are few but will be of opinion that he can; and
this may serve as a proof, that the simple ideas are not always
derived from the correspondent impressions; tho’ the instance
is so particular and singular, that ’t is scarce worth our observ-
ing, and does not merit that for it alone we should alter our
general maxim.

But besides this exception, it may not be amiss to remark
on this head, that the principle of the priority of impressions
to ideas must be understood with another limitation, v7z. that
as our ideas are images of our impressions, so we can form
secondary ideas, which are images of the primary; as appears
from this very reasoning concerning them. This is not, pro-
perly speaking, an exception to the rule so much as an explana-
tion of it. Ideas produce the images of themselves in new ideas;
but as the first ideas are supposed to be derived from impres-
sions, it still remains true, that all our simple ideas proceed
either mediately or immediately from their correspondent
impressions.

This then is the first principle I establish in the science of
human nature; nor ought we to despise it because of the sim-
plicity of its appearance. For ’t is remarkable, that the present
question concerning the precedency of our impressions or ideas,
is the same with what has made so much noise in other terms,
when it has been disputed whether there be any innate ideas,
or whether all ideas be derived from sensation and reflexion.
We may observe, that in order to prove the ideas of extension
and colour not to be innate, philosophers do nothing but
shew, that they are conveyed by our senses. To prove the
ideas of passion and desire not to be innate, they observe that
we have a preceding experience of these emotions in ourselves.
Now if we carefully examine these arguments, we shall find that
they prove nothing but that ideas are preceded by other more

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 28s

lively perceptions, from which they are derived, and which they
represent. I hope this clear stating of the question will remove
all disputes concerning it, and will render this principle of more
use in our reasonings, than it seems hitherto to have been.

SECTION II. DIvIsION oF THE SUBJECT :

SINCE it appears, that our simple impressions are prior to
their correspondent ideas, and that the exceptions are very
rare, method seems to require we should examine our impres-
sions, before we consider our ideas. Impressions may be di-
vided into two kinds, those of SENSATION and those of REFLEX-
10N. The first kind arises in the soul originally, from unknown
causes. The second is derived in a great measure from our
ideas, and that in the following order. An impression first
strikes upon the senses, and makes us perceive heat or cold,
thirst or hunger, pleasure or pain of some kind or other.. Of
this impression there is a copy taken by the mind, which re- .
mains after the impression ceases; and this we call an idea.
This idea of pleasure or pain, when it returns upon the soul,
produces the new impressions of desire and aversion, hope and
fear, which may properly be called impressions of reflection,
because derived from it. These again are copied by the memory
and imagination, and become ideas; which perhaps in their turn
give rise to other impressions and ideas. So that the impres-
sions of reflection are only antecedent to their correspondent
ideas; but posterior to those of sensation, and deriv’d from
them. The examination of our sensations belongs more to
anatomists and natural philosophers than to moral; and there-
fore shall not at present be enter’d upon. And as the impres-
sions of reflection, viz. passions, desires, and emotions, which
principally deserve our attention, arise mostly from ideas, ’t will
be necessary to reverse that method, which at first sight seems
most natural; and in order to explain the nature and principles
of the human mind, give a particular account of ideas, before
we proceed to impressions. For this reason I have here chosen
to begin with ideas.

286 DAVID HUME

SEecTION III. Or THE IDEAS OF THE MEMORY AND IMAGINA-
TION

WE find by experience, that when any impression has been
present with the mind, it again makes its appearance there as
an idea; and this it may do after two different ways; either
when in its new appearance it retains a considerable degree
of its first vivacity, and is somewhat intermediate betwixt an
impression and an idea; or when it entirely loses that vivacity,
and is a perfect idea. The faculty, by which we repeat our
impressions in the first manner, is called the Memory, and the
other the ImacinaTion. ’T is evident at first sight, that the
ideas of the memory are much more lively and strong than
those of the imagination, and that the former faculty paints its
objects in more distinct colours, than any which are employ’d
by the latter. When we remember any past event, the idea
of it flows in upon the mind in a forcible manner; whereas in
the imagination the perception is faint and languid, and cannot
without difficulty be preserv’d by the mind steady and uni-
form for any considerable time. Here then is a sensible differ-
ence betwixt one species of ideas and another. But of this more
fully hereafter. :

There is another difference betwixt these two kinds of ideas,
which is no less evident, namely that tho’ neither the ideas of
the memory nor imagination, neither the lively nor faint ideas
can make their appearance in the mind, unless their corre-
spondent impressions have gone before to prepare the way for
them, yet the imagination is not restrain’d to the same order
and form with the original impressions; while the memory is in
a manner ty’d down in that respect, without any power of
variation.

’T is evident, that the memory preserves the original form,
in which its objects were presented, and that where-ever we
depart from it in recollecting any thing, it proceeds from some
defect or imperfection in that faculty. An historian may, per-
haps, for the more convenient carrying on of his narration,

1 Part III. sect. 5.

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 287

relate an event before another, to which it was in fact posterior;
but then he takes notice of this disorder, if he be exact; and by
that means replaces the idea in its due position. ’T is the same
case in our recollection of those places and persons, with which
we were formerly acquainted. The chief exercise of the memory
is not to preserve the simple ideas, but their order and posi-
tion. In short, this principle is supported by such a number of
common and vulgar phenomena, that we may spare ourselves
the trouble of insisting on it any farther.

The same evidence follows us in our second principle, of the
liberty of the imagination to transpose and change iis ideas. The
fables we meet with in poems and romances put this entirely
out of question. Nature there is totally confounded, and no-
thing mentioned but winged horses, fiery dragons, and mon-
strous giants. Nor will this liberty of the fancy appear strange,
when we consider, that all our ideas are copy’d from our impres-
sions, and that there are not any two impressions which are
perfectly inseparable. Not to mention, that this isan evident
consequence of the division of ideas into simple and complex.
Where-ever the imagination perceives a difference among ideas,
it can easily produce a separation.

SECTION IV. OF THE CONNEXION OR ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS

As all simple ideas may be separated by the imagination,
and may be united again in what form it pleases, nothing wou’d
be more unaccountable than the operations of that faculty,
were it not guided by some universal principles, which render
it, in some measure, uniform with itself in all times and places.
Were ideas entirely loose and unconnected, chance alone wou’d
join them; and ’t is impossible the same simple ideas should
fall regularly into complex ones (as they commonly do) with-
out some bond of union among them, some associating quality,
by which one idea naturally introduces another. This uniting
principle among ideas is not to be consider’d as an inseparable
connexion; for that has been already excluded from the imag-
ination: Nor yet are we to conclude, that without it the mind

288 DAVID HUME

cannot join two ideas; for nothing is more free than that
faculty: but we are only to regard it as a gentle force, which
commonly prevails, and is the cause why, among other things,
languages so nearly correspond to each other; nature in a man-
ner pointing out to every one those simple ideas, which are
most proper to be united into a complex one. The qualities,
from which this association arises, and by which the mind is
after this manner convey’d from one idea to another, are three,
viz. RESEMBLANCE, CONTIGUITY in time or place, and CAUSE
and EFFECT.

I believe it will not be very necessary to prove, that these
qualities produce an association among ideas, and upon the
appearance of one idea naturally introduce another. ’T is
plain, that in the course of our thinking, and in the constant
revolution of our ideas, our imagination runs easily from one
idea to any other that resembles it, and that this quality alone
is to the fancy a sufficient bond and association. ’T is like-
wise evident, that as the senses, in changing their objects, are
necessitated to change them regularly, and take them as they
lie contiguous to each other, the imagination must by long cus-
tom acquire the same method of thinking, and run along the
parts of space and time in conceiving its objects. As to the con-
nexion, that is made by the relation of cause and effect, we shall
have occasion afterwards to examine it to the bottom, and
therefore shall not at present insist upon it. ’T is sufficient
to observe, that there is no relation, which produces a stronger
connexion in the fancy, and makes one idea more readily recall
another, than the relation of cause and effect betwixt their
objects.

That we may understand the full extent of these relations,
we must consider, that two objects are connected together in
the imagination, not only when the one is immediately re-
sembling, contiguous to, or the cause of the other, but also
when there is interposed betwixt them a third object, which
bears to both of them any of these relations. This may be
carried on to a great length; tho’ at the same time we may
observe, that each remove considerably weakens the relation.

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 289

Cousins in the fourth degree are connected by causation, if I
may be allowed to use that term; but not so closely as brothers,
much less as child and parent. In general we may observe, that
all the relations of blood depend upon cause and effect, and are
esteemed near or remote, according to the number of connect-
ing causes interpos’d betwixt the persons.

Of the three relations above-mention’d this of causation is
the most extensive. Two objects may be consider’d as plac’d
in this relation, as well when one is the cause of any of the
actions or motions of the other, as when the former is the
cause of the existence of the latter. For as that action or
motion is nothing but the object itself, consider’d in a certain
light, and as the object continues the same in all its different
situations, ’t is easy to imagine how such an influence of objects
upon one another may connect them in the imagination.

We may carry this farther, and remark, not only that two
objects.are connected by the relation of cause and effect, when
the one produces a motion or any action in the other, but also
when it has a power of producing it. And this we may observe
to be the source of all the relations of interest and duty, by
which men influence each other in society, and are plac’d in the
ties of government and subordination. A master is such-a-one
as by his situation, arising either from force or agreement, has
a power of directing in certain particulars the actions of another,
whom we call servant. A judge is one, who in all disputed cases
can fix by his opinion the possession or property of any thing
betwixt any members of the society. When a person is pos-
sess’d of any power, there is no more required to convert it into
action, but the exertion of the will; and that in every case is
consider’d as possible, and in many as probable; especially in
the case of authority, where the obedience of the subject is a
pleasure and advantage to the superior.

These are therefore the principles of union or cohesion
among our simple ideas, and in the imagination supply the
place of that inseparable connexion, by which they are united
in our memory. Here is a kind of ATTRACTION, which in the
mental world will be found to have as extraordinary effects as

290 DAVID HUME

in the natural, and to shew itself in as many and as various
forms. Its effects are every where conspicuous; but as to its
causes, they are mostly unknown, and must be resolv’d into
original qualities of human nature, which I pretend not to
explain. Nothing is more requisite for a true philosopher, than
to restrain the intemperate desire of searching into causes, and
having establish’d any doctrine upon a sufficient number of
experiments, rest contented with that, when he sees a farther
examination would lead him into obscure and uncertain specu-
lations. In that case his enquiry wou’d be much better
employ’d in examining the effects than the causes of his
principle.

Amongst the effects of this union or association of ideas,
there are none more remarkable, than those complex ideas,
which are the common subjects of our thoughts and reasoning,
and generally arise from some principle of union among our
simple ideas. These complex ideas may be divided into
Relations, Modes, and Substances. We shall briefly examine
each of these in order, and shall subjoin some considerations
concerning our general and particular ideas, before we leave the
present subject, which may be consider’d as the elements of this
philosophy.

SECTION V. OF RELATIONS

THE word RELATION is commonly used in two senses con-
siderably different from each other. Either for that quality, by
which two ideas are connected together in the imagination,
and the one naturally introduces the other, after the manner
above-explained; or for that particular circumstance, in which,
even upon the arbitrary union of two ideas in the fancy, we
may think proper to compare them. In common language the
former is always the sense, in which we use the word, relation;
and ’t is only in philosophy, that we extend it to mean any par-
ticular subject of comparison, without a connecting principle.
Thus distance will be allowed by philosophers to be a true re-
lation, because we acquire an idea of it by the comparing of
objects: But in a common way we say, that nothing can be

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 201

more distant than such or such things from each other, nothing can
have less relation; as if distance and relation were incompatible.

It may perhaps be esteemed an endless task to enumerate
all those qualities, which make objects admit of comparison,
and by which the ideas of philosophical relation are produced.
But if we diligently consider them, we shall find that without
difficulty they may be compriz’d under seven general heads,
which may be considered as the source of all philosophical
relation.

1. The first is resemblance: And this is a relation, without
which no philosophical relation can exist; since no objects
will admit of comparison, but what have some degree of resem-
blance. But tho’ resemblance be necessary to all philosophical
relation, it does not follow, that it always produces a connexion
or association of ideas. When a quality becomes very general,
and is common to a great many individuals, it leads not the
mind directly to any one of them; but by presenting at once too
great a choice, does thereby prevent the imagination from fix-
ing on any single object.

2. Identity may be esteem’d a second species of relation.
This relation I here consider as apply’d in its strictest sense
to constant and unchangeable objects; without examining the
nature and foundation of personal identity, which shall find
its place afterwards. Of all relations the most universal is that
of identity, being common to every being, whose existence has
any duration.

3. After identity the most universal and comprehensive rela-
tions are those of Space and Time, which are the sources of an
infinite number of comparisons, such as distant, contiguous,
above, below, before, after, &c.

4. All those objects, which admit of quantity, or number, may
be compar’d in that particular; which is another very fertile
source of relation.

5. When any two objects possess the same quality in com-
mon, the degrees, in which they possess it, form a fifth species
of relation. Thus of two objects, which are both heavy, the
one may be either of greater, or less weight than with the

292 DAVID HUME

other. Two colours, that are of the same kind, may yet be of
different shades, and in that respect admit of comparison.

6. The relation of conirariety may at first sight be regarded
as an exception to the rule, that no relation of any kind can
subsist without some degree of resemblance. But let us consider,
that no two ideas are in themselves contrary, except those of
existence and non-existence, which are plainly resembling, as
implying both of them an idea of the object; tho’ the latter
excludes the object from all times and places, in which it is sup-
posed not to exist.

7. All other objects, such as fire and water, heat and cold,
are only found to be contrary from experience, and from the
contrariety of their causes or effects; which relation of cause
and effect is a seventh philosophical relation, as well as a
natural one. The resemblance implied in this relation, shall be
explain’d afterwards.

It might naturally be expected, that I should join difference
to the other relations. But that I consider rather as a nega-
tion of relation, than as any thing real or positive. Difference
is of two kinds as oppos’d either to identity or resemblance.
The first is called a difference of number; the other of kind.

SEcTION VI. Or MopES AND SUBSTANCES

I wovu’p fain ask those philosophers, who found so much
of their reasonings on the distinction of substance and acci-
dent, and imagine we have clear ideas of each, whether the
idea of substance be deriv’d from the impressions of sensation
or reflection? If it be convey’d to us by our senses, I ask,
which of them; and after what manner? If it be perceiv’d by
the eyes, it must be a colour; if by the ears, a sound; if by the
palate, a taste; and so of the other senses. But I believe none
will assert, that substance is either a colour, or sound, or a
taste. The idea of substance must therefore be deriv’d from an
impression or reflection, if it really exist. But the impressions
of reflection resolve themselves into our passions and emotions;
none of which can possibly represent a substance. We have

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 293

therefore no idea of substance, distinct from that of a collection
of particular qualities, nor have we any other meaning when we
either talk or reason concerning it.

The idea of a substance as well as that of a mode, is nothing
but a collection of simple ideas, that are united by the imagina-
ition, and have a particular name assigned them, by which we
afe able to recall, either to ourselves or others, that collection.
But the difference betwixt these ideas consists in this, that the
particular qualities, which form a substance, are commonly
refer’d to an unknown something, in which they are supposed
to inhere; or granting this fiction should not take place, are at
least supposed to be closely and inseparably connected by the
relations of contiguity and causation. The effect of this is, that
whatever new simple quality we discover to have the same con-
nexion with the rest, we immediately comprehend it among
them, even tho’ it did not enter into the first conception of the
substance. Thus our idea of gold may at first be a yellow
colour, weight, malleableness, fusibility; but upon the discov-
ery of its dissolubility in aqua regia, we join that to the other
qualities, and suppose it to belong to the substance as much as
if its idea had from the beginning made a part of the compound
one. The principle of union being regarded as the chief part of
the complex idea, gives entrance to whatever quality after-
wards occurs, and is equally comprehended by.it, as are the
others, which first presented themselves.’

That this cannot take place in modes, is evident from con-
sidering their nature. The simple ideas of which modes are
formed, either represent qualities, which are not united by
contiguity and causation, but are dispers’d in different sub-
jects; or if they be all united together, the uniting principle
is not regarded as the foundation of the complex idea. The
idea of a dance is an instance of the first kind of modes; that
of beauty of the second. The reason is obvious, why such com-
plex ideas cannot receive any new idea, without changing the
name, which distinguishes the mode.

1 Cf. Green and Grose’s Introduction, §208.
2 [bid. §214.

294. DAVID HUME

PARI AL. OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY
SEcTION I. OF KNOWLEDGE

THERE are’ seven different kinds of philosophical relation,
viz. resemblance, identity, relations of time and place, propor-
tion in quantity or number, degrees in any quality, contrariety, and
causation. These relations may be divided into two classes;
into such as depend entirely on the ideas, which we compare
together, and such as may be chang’d without any change in
the ideas. "Tis from the idea of a triangle, that we discover
the relation of equality, which its three angles bear to two right
ones; and this relation is invariable, as long as our idea remains
the same. On the contrary, the relations of contiguity and
distance betwixt two objects may be chang’d merely by an
alteration of their place, without any change on the objects
themselves or on their ideas; and the place depends on a hun-
dred different accidents, which cannot be foreseen by the mind.
’T is the same case with identity and causation. Two objects,
tho’ perfectly resembling each other, and even appearing in the
same place at different times, may be numerically different;
And as the power, by which one object produces another, is
never discoverable merely from their idea, ’t is evident cause
and effect are relations, of which we receive information from
experience, and not from any abstract reasoning or reflection.
There is no single phenomenon, even the most simple, which
can be accounted for from the qualities of the objects, as they
appear to us; or which we cou’d foresee without the help of our
memory and experience.

It appears, therefore, that of these seven philosophical rela-
tions, there remain only four, which depending solely upon
ideas, can be the objects of knowledge and certainty. These
four are resemblance, contrariety, degrees in quality, and propor-
tions in quantity or number. Three of these relations are dis-
coverable at first sight, and fall more properly under the pro-
vince of intuition than demonstration. When any objects

1 Part I. sect. 5.

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 295

resemble each other, the resemblance will at first strike the eye,
or rather the mind; and seldom requires a second examination.
The case is the same with contrariety, and with the degrees of
any quality. No one can once doubt but existence and non-
existence destroy each other, and are perfectly incompatible
and contrary. And tho’ it be impossible to judge exactly of the
degrees of any quality, such as colour, taste, heat, cold, when
the difference betwixt them is very small; yet ’tis easy to
decide, that any of them is superior or inferior to another, when
the difference is considerable. And this decision we always
pronounce at first sight, without any enquiry or reasoning.

We might proceed, after the same manner, in fixing the pro-
portions of quantity or number, and might at one view observe
a superiority or inferiority betwixt any numbers, or figures;
especially where the difference is very great and remarkable.
As to equality or any exact proportion, we can only guess at it
from a single consideration; except in very short numbers, or
very limited portions of extension; which are comprehended in
an instant, and where we perceive an impossibility of falling
into any considerable error. In all other cases we must settle
the proportions with some liberty, or proceed in a more
artificial manner.

I have already observ’d, that geometry, or the art, by which
we fix the proportions of figures, tho’ it much excels, both in
universality and exactness, the loose judgments of the senses
and imagination, yet never attains a perfect precision and
exactness. Its first principles are still drawn from the general
appearance of the objects; and that appearance can never afford
us any security, when we examine the prodigious minuteness of
which nature is susceptible. Our ideas seem to give a perfect
assurance, that no two right lines can have a common segment;
but if we consider these ideas, we shall find, that they always
suppose a sensible inclination of the two lines, and that where
the angle they form is extremely small, we have no standard
of a right line so precise as to assure us of the truth of this
proposition. ’T is the same case with most of the primary de-
cisions of the mathematics.

206 DAVID HUME

There remain, therefore, algebra and arithmetic as the only
sciences, in which we can carry on a chain of reasoning to any
degree of intricacy, and yet preserve a perfect exactness and
certainty. We are possest of a precise standard, by which we
can judge of the equality and proportion of numbers; and ac-
cording as they correspond or not to that standard, we deter-
mine their relations, without any possibility of error. When two
numbers are so combin’d, as that the one has always an unite
answering to every unite of the other, we pronounce them equal;
and ’t is for want of such a standard of equality in extension,
that geometry can scarce be esteem’d a perfect and infallible
science.

But here it may not be amiss to obviate a difficulty, which
may arise from my asserting, that tho’ geometry falls short of
that perfect precision and certainty, which are peculiar to
arithmetic and algebra, yet it excels the imperfect judgments
of our senses and imagination. The reason why I impute
any defect to geometry, is, because its original and funda-
mental principles are deriv’d merely from appearances; and
it may perhaps be imagin’d, that this defect must always attend
it, and keep it from ever reaching a greater exactness in the
comparison of objects or ideas, than what our eye or imagina-
tion alone is able to attain. I own that this defect so far at-
tends it, as to keep it from ever aspiring to a full certainty: But
since these fundamental principles depend on the easiest and
least deceitful appearances, they bestow on their consequences
a degree of exactness, of which these consequences are singly
incapable. I is impossible for the eye to determine the angles
of a chiliagon to be equal to 1996 right angles, or make any
conjecture, that approaches this proportion; but when it deter-
mines, that right lines cannot concur; that we cannot draw
more than one right line between two given points; its mistakes
can never be of any consequence. And this is the nature and
use of geometry, to run us up to such appearances, as, by rea-
son of their simplicity, cannot lead us into any considerable
error.

I shall here take occasion to propose a second observation

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 297

concerning our demonstrative reasonings, which is suggested
by the same subject of the mathematics. "Tis usual with
mathematicians, to pretend, that those ideas, which are their
objects, are of so refin’d and spiritual a nature, that they fall
not under the conception of the fancy, but must be compre-
hended by a pure and intellectual view, of which the. superior
faculties of the soul are alone capable. The same notion runs
thro’ most parts of philosophy, and is principally made use of
to explain our abstract ideas, and to shew how we can form an
idea of a triangle, for instance, which shall neither be an isoceles
nor scalenum, nor be confin’d to any particular length and pro-
portion of sides. ’I is easy to see, why philosophers are so fond
of this notion of some spiritual and refin’d perceptions; since by
that means they cover many of their absurdities, and may
refuse to submit to the decisions of clear ideas, by appealing
to such as are obscure and uncertain. But to destroy this arti-
fice, we need but reflect on that principle so oft insisted on, that
all our ideas are copy’d from our impressions. For from thence
we may immediately conclude, that since all impressions are
clear and precise, the ideas, which are copy’d from them, must
be of the same nature, and can never, but from our fault, con-
tain any thing so dark and intricate. An idea is by its very
nature weaker and fainter than an impression; but being in
every other respect the same, cannot imply any very great
mystery. If its weakness render it obscure, ’t is our business
to remedy that defect, as much as possible, by keeping the
idea steady and precise; and till we have done so, ’t is in vain
to pretend to reasoning and philosophy.

SEcTION II. Or PROBABILITY; AND OF THE IDEA OF CAUSE
AND EFFECT

Tuts is all I think necessary to observe concerning those
four relations, which are the foundation of science; but as to
the other three, which depend not upon the idea, and may be
absent or present even while that remains the same, ’t will be
proper to explain them more particularly. These three rela-

298 - DAVID HUME

tions are identity, the situations in time and place, and causa-
tion.

All kinds of reasoning consist in nothing but a comparison,
and a discovery of those relations, either constant or incon-
stant, which two or more objects bear to each other. This
comparison we may make, either when both the objects are
present to the senses, or when neither of them is present, or
when only one. When both the objects are present to the
senses along with the relation, we call this perception rather
than reasoning; nor is there in this case any exercise of the
thought, or any action, properly speaking, but a mere passive
admission of the impressions thro’ the organs of sensation."
According to this way of thinking, we ought not to receive as
reasoning any of the observations we may make concerning
identity, and the relations of time and place; since in none of
them the mind can go beyond what is immediately present to
the senses, either to discover the real existence or the relations
of objects. ’Tis only causation, which produces such a con-
nexion, as to give us assurance from the existence or action of
one object, that ’t was follow’d or preceded by any other exist-
ence or action; nor can the other two relations be ever made
use of in reasoning, except so far as they either affect or are
affected by it. There is nothing in any objects to perswade us,
that they are either always remote or always contiguous; and
when from experience and observation we discover, that their
relation in this particular is invariable, we always conclude
there is some secret cause, which separates or unites them. The
same reasoning extends to identity. We readily suppose an
object may continue individually the same, tho’ several times
absent from and present to the senses; and ascribe to it an
identity, notwithstanding the interruption of the perception,
whenever we conclude, that if we had kept our eye or hand con-
stantly upon it, it wou’d have convey’d an invariable and unin-
terrupted perception. But this conclusion beyond the impres-
sions of our senses can be founded only on the connexion of cause
and effect; nor can we otherwise have any security, that the

1 Cf. Green and Grose’s Introduction, § 327.

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 299

object is not chang’d upon us, however much the new object
may resemble that which was formerly present to the senses.
Whenever we discover such a perfect resemblance, we consider
whether it be common in that species of objects; whether pos-
sibly or probably any cause cou’d operate in producing the
change and resemblance; and according as we determine con-
cerning these causes and effects, we form our judgment concern-
ing the identity of the object.!

Here then it appears, that of those three relations, which
depend not upon the mere ideas, the only one, that can be
trac’d beyond our senses, and informs us of existences and
objects, which we do not see or feel, is causation. This relation,
therefore, we shall endeavour to explain fully before we leave
the subject of the understanding.

To begin regularly, we must consider the idea of causation
and see from what origin it is deriv’d. *T is impossible to reason
justly, without understanding perfectly the idea concerning
which we reason; and ’t is impossible perfectly to understand
any idea, without tracing it up to its origin, and examining that
primary impression, from which it arises. The examination of
the impression bestows a clearness on the idea; and the exami-
nation of the idea bestows a like clearness on all our reasoning.

Let us therefore cast our eye on any two subjects, which
we call cause and effect, and turn them on all sides, in order
to find that impression, which produces an idea of such pro-
digious consequence. At first sight I perceive, that I must not
search for it in any of the particular qualities of the objects;
since, which-ever of these qualities I pitch on, I find some
object, that is not possest of it, and yet falls under the denom-
ination of cause or effect. And indeed there is nothing existent,
either externally or internally, which is not to be consider’d
either as a cause or an effect; tho’ ’t is plain there is no one
quality, which universally belongs to all beings, and gives them
a title to that denomination.

The idea, then, of causation must be deriv’d from some
relation among objects; and that relation we must now en-

1 Cf. Green and Grose’s Introduction, § 313.

300 DAVID HUME

deavour to discover. I find in the first place, that whatever
objects are consider’d as causes or effects, are contiguous; and
that nothing can operate in a time or place, which is ever so
little remov’d from those of its existence. Tho’ distant objects
may sometimes seem productive of each other, they are com-
monly found upon examination to be link’d by a chain of
causes, which are contiguous among themselves, and to the
distant objects; and when in any particular instance we cannot
discover this connexion, we still presume it to exist. We may
therefore consider the relation of CONTIGUITY as essential to
that of causation; at least may suppose it such, according to
the general opinion, till we can find a more ! proper occasion to
clear up this matter, by examining what objects are or are not
susceptible of juxtaposition and conjunction.

The second relation I shall observe as essential to causes
and effects, is not so universally acknowledg’d, but is liable to
some controversy. ’T is that of PRIORITY of time in the cause
before the effect. Some pretend that ’t is not absolutely neces-
sary a cause shou’d precede its effect; but that any object or
action, in the very first moment of its existence, may exert
its productive quality, and give rise to another object or action,
perfectly co-temporary with itself. But beside that experience
in most instances seems to contradict this opinion, we may
establish the relation of priority by a kind of inference or rea-
soning. ’T is an establish’d maxim both in natural and moral
philosophy, that an object, which exists for any time in its full
perfection without producing another, is not its sole cause; but
is assisted by some other principle, which pushes it from its
state of inactivity, and makes it exert that energy, of which it
was secretly possest. Now if any cause may be perfectly co-
temporary with its effect, ’t is certain, according to this maxim,
that they must all of them be so; since any one of them, which
retards its operation for a single moment, exerts not itself at
that very individual time, in which it might have operated,
and therefore is no proper cause. The consequence of this
wou’d be no less than the destruction of that succession of

1 Part IV, sect. 5.

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 301

causes, which we observe in the world; and indeed, the utter
annihilation of time. For if one cause were co-temporary with
its effect, and this effect with zts effect, and so on, ’t is plain
there wou’d be no such thing as succession, and all objects
must be co-existent.

If this argument appear satisfactory, ’tis well. If not, I

beg the reader to allow me the same liberty, which I have us’d
in the preceding case, of supposing it such. For he shall find,
that the affair is of no great importance.
- Having thus discover’d or suppos’d the two relations of
contiguity and succession to be essential to causes and effects,
I find I am stopt short, and can proceed no farther in consider-
ing any single instance of cause and effect. Motion in one body
is regarded upon impulse as the cause of motion in another.
When we consider these objects with the utmost attention, we
find only that the one body aches the other; and that the
motion of it precedes that of , but without any sensible
interval. *T is in vain to rack elves with farther thought
and reflection upon this subjec an go no farther in con-
sidering this particular mo nce

Shou’d any one leave this in and pretend to define a
cause, by saying it is something productive of another, ’t is
evident he wou’d say nothing. For what does he mean by
production? Can he give any definition of it, that will not be
the same with that of causation? If he can; I desire it may be
produc’d. If he cannot; he here runs in a circle, and gives a
synonymous term instead of a definition.

Shall we then rest contented with these two relations of
contiguity and succession, as affording a complete idea of
causation? By no means. An object may be contiguous and
prior to another, without being consider’d as its cause. There
is a NECESSARY CONNEXION to be taken into consideration;
and that relation is of much greater importance, than any of
- the other two above-mention’d. 4

1 Cf. Green and Grose’s Introduction, § 286.

302 DAVID HUME

SEcTION XIV. OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION

It has been establish’d as a certain principle, that general
or abstract ideas are nothing but individual ones taken in a
certain light, and that, in reflecting on any object, ’tis as
impossible to exclude from our thought all particular degrees
of quantity and quality as from the real nature of things. If
we be possest, therefore, of any idea of power in general, we
must also be able to conceive some particular species of it; and
as power cannot subsist alone, but is always regarded as an
attribute of some being or existence, we must be able to place
this power in some particular being, and conceive that being
as endow’d with a real force and energy, by which such a par-
ticular effect necessarily results from its operation. We must
distinctly and particularly conceive the connexion betwixt the
cause and effect, and be able to pronounce, from a simple view
of the one, that it must be follow’d or preceded by the other.
This is the true manner of conceiving a particular power in a
particular body: and a general idea being impossible without an
individual; where the latter, is impossible, ’tis certain the
former can never exist. I thing is more evident, than that
the human mind cannot f an idea of two objects, as to
conceive any connexion be them, or comprehend distinctly
that power or efficacy, by which they are united. Such a con-
nexion wou’d amount to a demonstration, and wou’d imply the
absolute impossib e one object not to follow, or to be
conceived not to follow upon the other: Which kind of connex-
ion has already been rejected in all cases. If any one is of a
contrary opinion, and thinks he has attain’d a notion of power
in any particular object, I desire he may point out to me that
object. But till I meet with such-a-one, which I despair of, I
cannot forbear concluding, that since we can never distinctly
conceive how any particular power can possibly reside in any
particular object, we deceive ourselves in imagining we can
form any such general idea.

’ Thus upon the whole we may infer, that when we talk of any

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 303

being, whether of a superior or inferior nature, as endow’d with
a power or force, proportion’d to any effect; when we speak of a
necessary connexion betwixt objects, and suppose, that this
connexion depends upon an efficacy or energy, with which any
of these objects are endow’d; in all these expressions, so apply’d
we have really no distinct meaning, and make use only of com-
mon words, without any clear and determinate ideas. But as
*tis more probable, that these expressions do here lose their
true meaning by being wrong apply’d, than that they never have
any meaning; ’t will be proper to bestow another consideration
on this subject, to see if possibly we can discover the nature and
origin of those ideas, we annex to them.

Suppose two objects to be presented to us, of which the one
is the cause and the other the effect; ’t is plain, that from the
simple consideration of one, or both these objects we never
shall perceive the tie, by which they are united, or be able
certainly to pronounce, that there is a connexion betwixt them.
*T is not, therefore, from any one instance, that we arrive at
the idea of cause and effect, of a necessary connexion of power,
of force, of energy, and of efficacy. Did we ever see any but
particular conjunctions of objects, entirely different from each
other, we shou’d never be able to form any such ideas.

But again; suppose we observe several instances, in which
the same objects are always conjoin’d together, we immediately
conceive a connexion betwixt them, and begin to draw an in-
ference from one to another. This multiplicity of resembling
instances, therefore, constitutes the very essence of power or
connexion, and is the source, from which the idea of it arises.
In order, then, to understand the idea of power, we must con-
sider that multiplicity; nor do I ask more to give a solution of
that difficulty, which has so long perplex’d us. For thus I rea-
son. The repetition of perfectly similar instances can never
alone give rise to an original idea, different from what is to be
found in any particular instance, as has been observ’d, and as
evidently follows from our fundamental principle, that all ideas
are copy’d from impressions. Since therefore the idea of power
is a new original idea, not to be found in any one instance, and

304. DAVID HUME

which yet arises from the repetition of several instances, it
follows, that the repetition alone has not that effect, but must
either discover or produce something new, which is the source
of that idea. Did the repetition neither discover nor produce
any thing new, our ideas might be multiply’d by it, but wou’d
not be enlarg’d above what they are upon the observation of
one single instance. Every enlargement, therefore, (such as the
idea of power or connexion) which arises from the multiplicity
of similar instances, is copy’d from some effects of the multi-
plicity, and will be perfectly understood by understanding these
effects. Wherever we find any thing new to be discover’d or
produc’d by the repetition, there we must place the power, and
must never look for it in any other object.

But ’t is evident, in the first place, that the repetition of like
objects in like relations of succession and contiguity discovers
nothing new in any one of them; since we can draw no inference
from it, nor make it a subject either of our demonstrative or
probable reasonings; as has been already prov’d. Nay sup-
pose we cou’d draw an inference, ’t wou’d be of no consequence
in the present case; since no kind of reasoning can give rise to
a new idea, such as this of power is; but wherever we reason, we
must antecedently be possest of clear ideas, which may be the
objects of our reasoning. The conception always precedes the
understanding; and where the one is obscure, the other is un-
certain; where the one fails, the other must fail also.

Secondly, ’T is certain that this repetition of similar objects
in similar situations produces nothing new either in these ob-
jects, or in any external body. For’ t will readily be allow’d, that
the several instances we have of the conjunction of resembling
causes and effects are in themselves entirely independent, and
that the communication of motion, which I see result at present
from the shock of two billiard-balls, is totally distinct from that
which I saw result from such an impulse a twelve-month ago.
These impulses have no influence on each other. They are
entirely divided by time and place; and the one might have
existed and communicated motion, tho’ the other never had
been in being.

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 305

There is, then, nothing new either discover’d or produc’d in
any objects by their constant conjunction, and by the uninter-
rupted resemblance of their relations of succession and con-
tiguity. But ’tis from this resemblance, that the ideas of
necessity, of power, and of efficacy, are deriv’d. These ideas,
therefore, represent not any thing, that does or can belong to
the objects, which are constantly conjoin’d. This is an argu-
ment, which, in every view we can examine it, will be found
perfectly unanswerable. Similar instances are still the first
source of our idea of power or necessity; at the same time that
they have no influence by their similarity either on each other,
or on any external object. We must therefore, turn ourselves
to some other quarter to seek the origin of that idea.

Tho’ the several resembling instances, which give rise to
the idea of power, have no influence on each other, and can
never produce any new quality zm the object, which can be the
model of that idea, yet the observation of this resemblance
produces a new impression in the mind, which is its real model.
For after we have observ’d the resemblance in a sufficient
number of instances, we immediately feel a determination of
the mind to pass from one object to its usual attendant, and to
conceive it in a stronger light upon account of that relation.
This determination is the only effect of the resemblance; and
therefore must be the same with power or efficacy, whose idea
is deriv’d from the resemblance. The several instances of re-
sembling conjunctions leads us into the notion of power and
necessity. These instances are in themselves totally distinct
from each other, and have no union but in the mind, which ob-
serves them, and collects their ideas. Necessity, then, is the
effect of this observation, and is nothing but an internal impres-
sion of the mind, or a determination to carry our thoughts from
one object to another. Without considering it in this view, we
can never arrive at the most distant notion of it, or be able to
attribute it either to external or internal objects, to spirit or
body, to causes or effects.

The necessary connexion betwixt causes and effects is the
foundation of our inference from one to the other. The founda-

306 DAVID HUME

tion of our inference is the transition arising from the accus-
tom’d union. These are, therefore, the same.

The idea of necessity arises from some impression. There
is no impression convey’d by our senses, which can give rise
to that idea. It must, therefore, be deriv’d from some internal
impression, or impression of reflection. There is no internal
impression, which has any relation to the present business,
but that propensity, which custom produces, to pass from an
object to the idea of its usual attendant. This therefore is the
essence of necessity. Upon the whole, necessity is something,
that exists in the mind, not in objects; nor is it possible for us
ever to form the most distant idea of it, consider’d as a quality
in bodies. Either we have no idea of necessity, or necessity is
nothing but that determination of the thought to pass from
causes to effects and from effects to causes, according to their
experienc’d union.

Thus as the necessity, which makes two times two equal to
four, or three angles of a triangle equal to two right ones, lies
only in the act of the understanding, by which we consider and
compare these ideas; in like manner the necessity or power,
which unites causes and effects, lies in the determination of the
mind to pass from the one to the other. The efficacy or energy
of causes is neither plac’d in the causes themselves, nor in
the deity, nor in the concurrence of these two principles; but
belongs entirely to the soul, which considers the union of two
or more objects in all past instances. ’T is here that the real
power of causes is plac’d, along with their connexion and
necessity.

I am sensible, that of all the paradoxes, which I have had,
or shall hereafter have occasion to advance in the course of this
treatise, the present one is the most violent, and that ’t is
merely by dint of solid proof and reasoning I can ever hope it
will have admission, and overcome the inveterate prejudices
of mankind. Before we are reconcil’d to this doctrine, how
often must we repeat to ourselves, that the simple view of any
two objects or actions, however related, can never give us any
idea of power, or of a connexion betwixt them: that this idea

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 307

arises from the repetition of their union: that the repetition
neither discovers nor causes any thing in the objects, but has
an influence only on the mind, by that customary transition it
produces: that this customary transition is, therefore, the same
with the power and necessity; which are consequently qualities
of perceptions, not of objects, and are internally felt by the
soul, and not perceiv’d externally in bodies? There is com-
monly an astonishment attending every thing extraordinary;
and this astonishment changes immediately into the highest
degree of esteem or contempt, according as we approve or dis-
approve of the subject. I am much afraid, that tho’ the fore-
going reasoning appears to me the shortest and most decisive
imaginable; yet with the generality of readers the biass of the
mind will prevail, and give them a prejudice against the present
doctrine. ;

This contrary biass is easily accounted for. ’T is a common
observation, that the mind has a great propensity to spread
itself on external objects, and to conjoin with them any internal
impressions, which they occasion, and which always make their _
appearance at the same time that these objects discover them-
selves to the senses. Thus as certain sounds and smells are
always found to attend certain visible objects, we naturally
imagine a conjunction, even in place, betwixt the objects and
qualities, tho’ the qualities be of such a nature as to admit of
no such conjunction, and really exist no where. But of this
more fully * hereafter. Mean while ’t is sufficient to observe,
that the same propensity is the reason, why we suppose neces-
sity and power to lie in the objects we consider, not in our mind,
that considers them; notwithstanding it is not possible for us
to form the most distant idea of that quality, when it is not
taken for the determination of the mind, to pass from the idea
of an object to that of its usual attendant.

But tho’ this be the only reasonable account we can give of
necessity, the contrary notion is so riveted in the mind from the
principles above-mention’d, that I doubt not but my senti-
ments will be treated by many as extravagant and ridiculous.

1 Part IV, sect. 5.

308 DAVID HUME

What! the efficacy of causes lie in the determination of the
mind! As if causes did not operate entirely independent of the
mind, and wou’d not continue their operation, even tho’ there
was no mind existent to contemplate them, or reason concern-
ing them. Thought may well depend on causes for its opera-
tion, but not causes on thought. This is to reverse the order of
nature, and make that secondary, which is really primary. To
every operation there is a power proportion’d; and this power
must be plac’d on the body, that operates. If we remove the
power from one cause, we must ascribe it to another: But to
remove it from all causes, and bestow it on a being, that is no
ways related to the cause or effect, but by perceiving them, is a
gross absurdity, and contrary to the most certain principles of
human reason.

I can only reply to all these arguments, that the case is here
much the same, as if a blind man shou’d pretend to find a great
many absurdities in the supposition, that the colour of scarlet
is not the same with the sound of a trumpet, nor light the same
with solidity. If we have really no idea of a power or efficacy
in any object, or of any real connexion betwixt causes and
effects, ’t will be to little purpose to prove, that an efficacy is ne-
cessary in all operations. We do not understand our own mean-
ing in talking so, but ignorantly confound ideas, which are en-
tirely distinct from each other. I am, indeed, ready to allow,
that there may be several qualities both in material and imma-
terial objects, with which we are utterly unacquainted; and if
we please to call these power or efficacy, ’t will be of little conse-
quence to the world. But when, instead of meaning these un-
known qualities, we make the terms of power and efficacy sig-
nify something, of which we have a clear idea, and which is
incompatible with those objects, to which we apply it, obscur-
ity and error begin then to take place, and we are led astray by
a false philosophy. This is the case, when we transfer the de-
termination of the thought to external objects, and suppose any
real intelligible connexion betwixt them; that being a quality,
which can only belong to the mind that considers them.

As to what may be said, that the operations of nature are

A ‘TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 309

independent of our thought and reasoning, I allow it; and ac-
cordingly have observ’d, that objects bear to each other the
relations of contiguity and succession; that like objects may be
observ’d in several instances to have like relations; and that all
this is independent of, and antecedent to the operations of the
understanding. But if we go any farther, and ascribe a power
or necessary connexion to these objects; this is what we can
never observe in them, but must draw the idea of it from what
we feel internally in contemplating them. And this I carry so
far, that I am ready to convert my present reasoning into an
instance of it, by a subtility, which it will not be difficult to
comprehend.

When any object is presented to us, it immediately conveys
to the mind a lively idea of that object, which is usually found
to attend it; and this determination of the mind forms the
necessary connexion of these objects. But when we change the
point of view, from the objects to the perceptions; in that case
the impression is to be considered as the cause, and the lively
idea as the effect; and their necessary connexion is that new
determination, which we feel to pass from the idea of the one to
that of the other. The uniting principle among our internal
perceptions is as unintelligible as that among external objects,
and is not known to us any other way than by experience. Now
the nature and effects of experience have been already suffi-
ciently examin’d and explain’d. It never gives us any insight
into the internal structure or operating principle of objects, but
only accustoms the mind to pass from one to another.

’T is now time to collect all the different parts of this reason-
ing, and by joining them together form an exact definition of
the relation of cause and effect, which makes the subject of the
present enquiry. This order wou’d not have been excusable, of
first examining our inference from the relation before we had
explain’d the relation itself, had it been possible to proceed in a
different method. But as the nature of the relation depends so
much on that of the inference, we have been oblig’d to advance
in this seemingly preposterous manner, and make use of terms
before we were able exactly to define them, or fix their meaning.

310 DAVID HUME

“We shall now correct this fault by giving a precise definition of
cause and effect.
_ There may two definitions be given of this relation, which

are only different, by their presenting a different view of the
same object, and making us consider it either as a philosophical
or as a natural relation; either as a comparison of two ideas,
or as an association betwixt them. We may define a CAUSE to
be ‘An object precedent and contiguous to another, and where
all the objects resembling the former are plac’d in like relations
of precedency and contiguity to those objects, that resemble
the latter.’ If this definition be esteem’d defective, because
drawn from objects foreign to the cause, we may substitute this
other definition in its place, vz. ‘A CAUSE is an object precedent
and contiguous to another, and so united with it, that the idea
of the one determines the mind to form the idea of the other,
and the impression of the one to form a more lively idea of the
other.’ Shou’d this definition also be rejected for the same
reason, I know no other remedy, than that the persons, who
express this delicacy, should substitute a juster definition in its
place. But for my part I must own my incapacity for such an
undertaking. When I examine with the utmost accuracy those
objects, which are commonly denominated causes and effects,
I find, in considering a single instance, that the one object
is precedent and contiguous to the other; and in inlarging my
view to consider several instances, I find only, that like objects
are constantly plac’d in like relations of succession and contig-
uity. Again, when I consider the influence of this constant
conjunction, I perceive, that such a relation can never be an
object of reasoning, and can never operate upon the mind,
but by means of custom, which determines the imagination to
make a transition from the idea of one object to that of its
usual attendant, and from the impression of one to a more
lively idea of the other. However extraordinary these senti-
ments may appear, I think it fruitless to trouble myself with
any farther enquiry or reasoning upon the subject, but shall
repose myself on them as on establish’d maxims.

’T will only be proper, before we leave this subject, to draw

A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 311

some corrollaries from it, by which we may remove several
prejudices and popular errors, that have very much prevail’d
in philosophy. First, We may learn from the foregoing doc-
trine, that all causes are of the same kind, and that in particular
there is no foundation for that distinction, which we sometimes
make betwixt efficient causes, and causes sine qua non; or be-
twixt efficient causes, and formal, and material, and exem-
plary, and final causes. For as our idea of efficiency is deriv’d
from the constant conjunction of two objects, wherever this is
observ’d, the cause is efficient and where it is not, there can
never be a cause of any kind. For the same reason we must
reject the distinction betwixt cause and occasion, when sup-
pos’d to signify any thing essentially different from each other.
If constant conjunction be imply’d in what we call occasion,
*t isa real cause. If not, ’t is no relation at all, and cannot give
rise to any argument or reasoning.

Secondly, The same course of reasoning will make us con-
clude, that there is but one kind of necessity, as there is but one
kind of cause, and that the common distinction betwixt moral
and physical necessity is without any foundation in nature.
This clearly appears from the precedent explication of neces-
sity. ’T is the constant conjunction of objects, along with the
determination of the mind, which constitutes a physical neces-
sity: And the removal of these is the same thing with chance. As
objects must either be conjoin’d or not, and as the mind must
either be determin’d or not to pass from one object to another,
’t is impossible to admit of any medium betwixt chance and an
absolute necessity. In weakening this conjunction and deter-
mination you do not change the nature of the necessity; since
even in the operation of bodies, these have different degrees of
constancy and force, without producing a different species of
that relation.

The distinction, which we often make betwixt power and
the exercise of it, is equally without foundation.

Thirdly, We may now be able fully to overcome all that
repugnance, which ’t is so natural for us to entertain against
the foregoing reasoning, by which we endeavour’d to prove,

312 DAVID HUME

that the necessity of a cause to every beginning of existence
is not founded on any arguments either demonstrative or intui-
tive. Such an opinion will not appear strange after the fore-
going definitions. If we define a cause to be an object precedent
and contiguous to another, and where all the objects resembling the
former are plac’d in a like relation of priority and contiguity to
those objects, that resemble the latter; we may easily conceive, that
there is no absolute nor metaphysical necessity, that every
beginning of existence shou’d be attended with such an object.
If we define a cause to be, An object precedent and contiguous to
another, and so united with it in the imagination, that the idea of
the one determines the mind to form the idea of the other, and the
impression of the one to form a more lively idea of the other; we
shall make still less difficulty of assenting to this opinion. Such
an influence on the mind is in itself perfectly extraordinary
and incomprehensible; nor can we be certain of its reality, but
from experience and observation.

I shall add as a fourth corrollary, that we can never have
reason to believe that any object exists, of which we cannot
form an idea. For as all our reasonings concerning existence
are deriv’d from causation, and as all our reasonings concerning
causation are deriv’d from the experienc’d conjunction of
objects, not from any reasoning or reflection, the same experi-
ence must give us a notion of.these objects, and must remove
all mystery from our conclusions. This is so evident, that
’t wou’d scarce have merited our attention, were it not to
obviate certain objections of this kind, which might arise
against the following reasonings concerning matter and sub-
stance. I need not observe, that a full knowledge of the object
is not requisite, but only. of those qualities of it, which we
believe to exist.

DAVID HARTLEY

(1705-1757)
OBSERVATIONS ON MAN, HIS FRAME, HIS
DUTY, AND HIS EXPECTATIONS*

PART I. INTRODUCTION {

MAN consists of two parts, body and mind.

The first is subjected to our senses and inquiries, in the same
manner as the other parts of the external material world.

The last is that substance, agent, principle, &c. to which we
refer the sensations, ideas, pleasures, pains, and voluntary
motions.

Sensations are those internal feelings of the mind, which arise
from the impressions made by external objects upon the several
parts of our bodies.

All our other internal feelings may be called ideas. Some
of these appear to spring up in the mind of themselves, some
are suggested by words, others arise in other ways. Many
writers comprehend sensations under ideas; but I every where
use these words in the senses here ascribed to them.

* London, 1749; 2d ed. (with Life), 1791; 6th rev. ed. 1834.

+ Hartley describes the origin of the Observations on Man, in its Preface, as
follows: — “ About eighteen years ago [1731] I was informed, that the Rev. Mr.
Gay, then living, asserted the possibility of deducing all our intellectual pleasures
and pains from association. This put me upon considering the power of associa-
tion. Mr. Gay published his sentiments on this matter, about the same time, in
a Dissertation on the Fundamental Principle of Virtue, prefixed to Mr. Arch-
deacon Law’s Translation of Archbishop King’s Origin of Evil.”

The internal evidence, moreover, tends to prove that the anonymous tract
entitled, An Enquiry into the Origin of the Human Appetite and Affections,
shewing how each arises from Association, Lincoln 1747, which is the fourth of
Rev. Samuel Parr’s Metaphysical Tracts, Lond. 1837, was also written by the
‘modest’ Gay, whose priority as regards the doctrine of association is thereby
more firmly secured.

"Ste DAVID HARTLEY

The ideas which resemble sensations, are called ideas of sen-
sation: all the rest may therefore be called intellectual ideas.

It will appear in the course of these observations, that the
ideas of sensation are the elements of which all the rest are
compounded. Hence ideas of sensation may be termed simple,
intellectual ones complex.

The pleasures and pains are comprehended under the sensa-
tions and ideas, as these are explained above. For all our pleas-
ures and pains are internal feelings, and conversely, all our
internal feelings seem to be attended with some degree either of
pleasure or pain. However, I shall, for the most part, give the
names of pleasure and pain only to such degrees as are consider-
able; referring all low evanescent ones to the head of mere
sensations and ideas.

The pleasures and pains may be ranged under seven general
classes; viz.

I. Sensation;

. Imagination;

. Ambition;

. Self-Interest;

. Sympathy;

. Theopathy; and,

. The Moral Sense; according as they arise from,
The impressions made on the external senses;
Natural or artificial beauty or deformity;

. The opinions of others concerning us;

4. Our possession or want of the means of happiness, and
security from, or subjection to, the hazards of misery;

5. The pleasures and pains of our fellow-creatures;

6. The affections excited in us by the contemplation of the
Deity; or

7. Moral beauty and deformity.

The human mind may also be considered as endued with the
raculties of memory, imagination, or fancy, understanding, affec-
tion, and will.

WN HT AN BW D

e e e e e e ° -e e ° e e

OBSERVATIONS ON MAN 315

CHAPTERI. THE DOCTRINES OF VIBRATIONS AND
ASSOCIATION IN GENERAL

My chief design in the following chapter is briefly to explain,
establish, and apply the doctrines of vibrations and association.
The first of these doctrines is taken from the hints concerning
the performance of sensation and motion, which Sir Isaac New-
ton has given at the end of his Principia,! and in the Questions
annexed to his Optics’; the last, from what Mr. Locke,* and other
ingenious persons since his time, have delivered concerning the
influence of association over our opinions and affections, and its
use in explaining those things in an accurate and precise way,
which are commonly referred to the power of habit and custom,
is a general and indeterminate one.

The doctrine of vibrations may appear at first sight to have
no connexion with that of association; however, if these doc-
trines be found in fact to contain the laws of the bodily and
mental powers respectively, they must be related to each other,
since the body and mind are. One may expect, that vibrations
should infer association as their effect, and association point to
vibrations as its cause. I will endeavour, in the present chapter,
to trace out this mutual relation.

The proper method of philosophizing seems to be, to discover
and establish the general laws of action, affecting the subject
under consideration, from certain select, well-defined, and well-
attested phenomena, and then to explain and predict the other
phenomena by these laws. This is the method of analysis and
synthesis recommended and followed by Sir Isaac Newton.

I shall not be able to execute, with any accuracy, what the
reader might expect of this kind, in respect of the doctrines of
vibrations and association, and their general laws, on account
of the great intricacy, extensiveness, and novelty of the sub-
ject. However, I will attempt a sketch in the best manner I
can, for the service of future inquirers.

1 Newton’s Philosophiae naturalis principia mathematicoa, Lond. 1687.

2 Newton’s Treatise of Optics, Lond. 1784.
3 Locke’s An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Lond. 1690.

316 DAVID HARTLEY

SECTION I. THE DOCTRINE OF VIBRATIONS, AND ITS USE FOR
EXPLAINING THE SENSATIONS

Prop. I. — The white medullary Substance of the Brain, spinal
Marrow, and the Nerves proceeding from them, is the imme-
diate Instrument of Sensation and Motion.

UNDER the word brain, in these observations, I comprehend
all that lies within the cavity of the skull, z.e. the cerebrum, or
brain properly so called, the cerebellum, and the medulla
oblongata.

This proposition seems to be sufficiently proved in the writ-
ings of physicians and anatomists; from the structure and func-
tions of the several organs of the human body; from experi-
ments on living animals; from the symptoms of diseases, and
from dissections of morbid bodies. Sensibility, and the power
of motion, seem to be conveyed to all the parts, in their natural
state, from the brain and spinal marrow, along the nerves.
These arise from the medullary, not the cortical part, every
where, and are themselves of a white medullary substance.
When the nerves of any part are cut, tied, or compressed in any
considerable degree, the functions of that part are either
entirely destroyed, or much impaired. When the spinal mar-
row is compressed by a dislocation of the vertebre of the back,
all the parts, whose nerves arise below the place of dislocation,
become paralytic. When any considerable injury is done to the
medullary substance of the brain, sensation, voluntary motion,
memory, and intellect, are either entirely lost, or much im-
paired; and if the injury be very great, this extends immedi-
ately to the vital motions also, vz. to those of the heart, and
organs of respiration, so as to occasion death. But this does not
hold equally in respect of the cortical substance of the brain;
perhaps not at all, unless as far as injuries done to it extend
themselves to the medullary substance. In dissections after
apoplexies, palsies, epilepsies, and other distempers affecting
the sensations and motions, it is usual to find some great dis-
order in the brain, from preternatural tumours, from blood,
matter, or serum, lying upon the brain, or in its ventricles, &c.

OBSERVATIONS ON MAN 317

This may suffice as general evidence for the present. The par-
ticular reasons of some of these phenomena, with more definite
evidences, will offer themselves in the course of these observa-
tions.

Prop. II. — The white medullary Substance of the Brain is also
the immediate Instrument, by which Ideas are presented to the
Mind: or, in other words, whatever Changes are made in this
Substance, corresponding Changes are made in our Ideas; and
vice versa.

THE evidence for this proposition is also to be taken from the
writings of physicians and anatomists; but especially from
those parts of these writings which treat of the faculties of
memory, attention, imagination, &c. and of mental disorders.
It is sufficiently manifest from hence, that the perfection of our
mental faculties depends upon the perfection of this substance;
that all injuries done to it affect the trains of ideas proportion-
ably; and that these cannot be restored to their natural course
till such injuries be repaired. Poisons, spirituous liquors, opi-
ates, fevers, blows upon the head, &c. all plainly affect the
mind, by first disordering the medullary substance. And evac-
uations, rest, medicines, time, &c. as plainly restore the mind
to its former state, by reversing the foregoing steps. But there
will be more and more definite evidence offered in the course of
these observations.

Prop. III. — The Sensations remain in the Mind for a short time —
after the sensible Objects are removed.

Tuis is very evident in the sensations impressed on the eye.
Thus, to use Sir Isaac Newton’s words, “If a burning coal be
nimbly moved round in a circle, with gyrations continually re-
peated, the whole circle will appear like fire; the reason of
which is, that the sensation of the coal, in the several places of
that circle, remains impressed on the sensorium until the coal
return again to the same place. And so in a quick consecution
of the colours,” (viz. red, yellow, green, blue, and purple, men-
tioned in the experiment, whence this passage is taken,) “the

318 DAVID HARTLEY

impression of every colour remains on the sensorium until a
revolution of all the colours be completed, and that first colour
return again. The impressions therefore of all the successive
colours are at once in the sensorium — and beget a sensation
of white.”’ Opt. b. I. p. 2. Experiment ro.

Thus also, when a person has had a candle, a window, or any
other lucid and well-defined object, before his eyes for a con-
siderable time, he may perceive a very clear and precise image
thereof to be left in the sensorium, fancy, or mind (for these I
consider as equivalent expressions in our entrance upon these
disquisitions,) for some time after he has closed his eyes. At
least this will happen frequently to persons who are attentive
to these things in a gentle way; for, as this appearance escapes
the notice of those who are entirely inattentive, so too earnest
a desire and attention prevents it, by introducing another state
of mind or fancy.

To these may be referred the appearance mentioned by Sir
Isaac Newton, Opt. Qu. 16. viz. ‘‘When a man in the dark
presses either corner of his eye with his finger, and turns his eye
away from his finger, he will see a circle of colours like those in
the feather of a peacock’s tail. And this appearance continues
about a second of time after the eye and finger have remained
quiet.” The sensation continues therefore in the mind about a
second of time after its cause ceases to act.

The same continuance of the sensations is also evident in the
ear. For the sounds which we hear are reflected by the neigh-
bouring bodies, and therefore consist of a variety of sounds,
succeeding each other at different distances of time, according
to the distances of the several reflecting bodies; which yet
causes no confusion or apparent complexity of sound, unless the
distance of the reflecting bodies be very considerable, as in spa-
cious buildings. Much less are we able to distinguish the suc-
cessive pulses of the air, even in the gravest sounds.

As to the senses of taste and smell, there seems to be no clear
direct evidence for the continuance of their sensations after the
proper objects are removed. But analogy would incline one to
believe, that they must resemble the senses of sight and hearing

OBSERVATIONS ON MAN \ Sao

in this particular, though the continuance cannot be perceived
distinctly, on account of the shortness of it, or other circum-
stances. For the sensations must be supposed to bear such an
analogy to each other, and so to depend in common upon the
brain, that all evidences for the continuance of sensations in
any one sense, will extend themselves to the rest. Thus all the
senses may be considered as so many kinds of feeling; the taste
is nearly allied to the feeling, the smell to the taste, and the
sight and hearing to each other. All which analogies will offer
themselves to view when we come to examine each of these
senses in particular.

In the sense of feeling, the continuance of heat, after the
heating body is removed, and that of the smart of a wound,
after the instant of infliction, seem to be of the same kind with
the appearances taken notice of in the eye and ear.

But the greatest part of the sensations of this sense resemble
those of taste and smell, and vanish to appearance as soon as
the objects are removed.

Prop. IV. — External Objects impressed upon the Senses occa-
sion, first in the Nerves on which they are impressed, and then in

the Brain, Vibrations of the small, and as one may say, infini- .

tesimal, medullary Particles.

THESE vibrations are motions backwards and forwards of the
small particles; of the same kind with the oscillations of pen-
dulums, and the tremblings of the particles of sounding bodies.
They must be conceived to be exceedingly short and small, so
as not to have the least efficacy to disturb or move the whole
bodies of the nerves or brain. For that the nerves themselves
should vibrate like musical strings, is highly absurd; nor was it
ever asserted by Sir Isaac Newton, or any of those who have
embraced his notion of the performance of sensation and mo-
tion, by means of vibrations.

In like manner we are to suppose the particles which vibrate,
to be of the inferior orders, and not those biggest particles, on
which the operations in chemistry, and the colours of natural
bodies, depend, according to the opinion of Sir Isaac Newton.

320 DAVID HARTLEY

Hence, in the proposition, I term the medullary particles, which
vibrate, infinitesimal. .

Now that external objects impress vibratory motions upon
the medullary substance of the nerves and brain (which is the
immediate instrument of sensation, according to the first pro-
position) appears from the continuance of the sensations men-
tioned in the third; since no motion, besides a vibratory one,
can reside in any part for the least moment of time. External
objects, being corporeal, can act upon the nerves and brain,
which are also corporeal, by nothing but impressing motion on
them. A vibrating motion may continue for a short time in the
small medullary particles of the nerves and brain, without dis-
turbing them, and after a short time would cease; and so would
correspond to the above-mentioned short continuance of the
sensations; and there seems to be no other species of motion
that can correspond thereto.

Cor. As this proposition is deduced from the foregoing, so
if it could be established upon independent principles, (of
which I shall treat under the next,) the foregoing might be de-
duced from it. And on this supposition there would be an argu-
ment for the continuance of the sensations, after the removal
of their objects; which would extend to the senses of feeling,
taste, and smell, in the same manner as to those of sight and
hearing.

SECTION II.— Or IDEAS, THEIR GENERATION AND ASSOCIA-
TIONS; AND OF THE AGREEMENT OF THE DOCTRINE OF VI-
BRATIONS WITH THE PHANOMENA OF IDEAS.

Prop. VIII. — Sensations, by being often repeated, leave certain
Vestiges, Types, or Images, of themselves, which may be called,
Simple Ideas of Sensation.

I Took notice in the Introduction, that those ideas which
resemble sensations were called ideas of sensation; and also that
they might be called simple ideas, in respect of the intellectual
ones which are formed from them, and of whose very essence it
is to be complex. But the ideas of sensation are not entirely

OBSERVATIONS ON MAN 321

simple, since they must consist of parts both co-existent and
successive, as the generating sensations themselves do.

Now, that the simple ideas of sensation are thus generated,
agreeably to the proposition, appears, because the most vivid
of these ideas are those where the corresponding sensations
are most vigorously impressed, or most frequently renewed;
whereas if the sensation be faint, or uncommon, the generated
idea is also faint in proportion, and, in extreme cases, evanes-
cent and imperceptible. The exact observance of the order of
place in visible ideas, and of the order of time in audible ones,
may likewise serve to shew, that these ideas are copies and off-
springs of the impressions made on the eye and ear, in which the
same orders were observed respectively. And though it hap-
pens, that trains of visible and audible ideas are presented in
sallies of the fancy, and in dreams, in which the order of time
and place is different from that of any former impressions, yet
the small component parts of these trains are copies of former
impressions; and reasons may be given for the varieties of their
compositions.

It is also to be observed, that this proposition bears a great
resemblance to the third; and that, by this resemblance, they
somewhat confirm and illustrate one another. According to the
third proposition, sensations remain for a short time after the
impression is removed; and these remaining sensations grow
feebler and feebler, till they vanish. They are therefore, in
some part of their declension, of about the same strength with
ideas, and in their first state, are intermediate between sensa-
tions and ideas. And it seems reasonable to expect, that, if a
single sensation can leave a perceptible effect, trace, or vestige,
for a short time, a sufficient repetition of a sensation may leave
a perceptible effect of the same kind, but of a more permanent
nature, z.e. an idea, which shall recur occasionally, at long
distances of time, from the impression of the corresponding
sensation, and vice versa. As to the occasions and causes, which
make ideas recur, they will be considered in the next proposi-
tion but one.

The method of reasoning used in the last paragraph is farther

322 DAVID HARTLEY

confirmed by the following circumstance; vz. that both the
diminutive declining sensations, which remain for a short space
after the impressions of the objects cease, and the ideas, which
are the copies of such impressions, are far more distinct and vivid
in respect of visible and audible impressions, than of any others.
To which it may be added, that, after travelling, hearing music,
&c. trains of vivid ideas are very apt to recur, which correspond
very exactly to the late impressions, and which are of an inter-
mediate nature between the remaining sensations of the third
proposition, in their greatest vigour, and the ideas mentioned
in this.

The sensations of feeling, taste and smell, can scarce be said
to leave ideas, unless very indistinct and obscure ones. How-
ever, an analogy leads one to suppose that these sensations may
leave traces of the same kind, though not in the same degree,
as those of sight and hearing; so the readiness with which we
reconnoitre sensations of feeling, taste, and smell, that have
been often impressed, is an evidence that they do so; and these
generated traces or dispositions of mind may be called the
ideas of feeling, taste, and smell. In sleep, when all our ideas
are magnified, those of feeling, taste, and smell, are often suffi-
ciently vivid and distinct; and the same thing happens in some
few cases of vigilance.

Prop. IX. — Sensory Vibrations, by being often repeated, beget,
in the medullary Substance of the Brain, a Disposition to
diminutive Vibrations, which may also be called Vibratiuncles,
and Miniatures, corresponding to themselves respectively.
THIS correspondence of the diminutive vibrations to the

original sensory ones, consists in this, that they agree in kind,

place, and line of direction; and differ only in being more feeble,

i.e. in degree.

This proposition follows from the foregoing. For since sensa-
tions, by being often repeated, beget ideas, it cannot but be
that those vibrations, which accompany sensations, should be-
get something which may accompany ideas in like manner; and
this can be nothing but feebler vibrations, agreeing with the

OBSERVATIONS ON MAN 323

sensory generating vibrations in kind, place, and line of
direction.

Or thus: By the first proposition it appears, that some motion
must be excited in the medullary substance, during each sensa-
tion; by the fourth, this motion is determined to be a vibratory
one: since therefore some motion must also, by the second, be
excited in the medullary substance during the presence of each
idea, this motion cannot be any other than a vibratory one: else
how should it proceed from the original vibration attending the
sensation, in the same manner as the idea does from the sensa-
tion itself? It must also agree in kind, place, and line of direc-
tion, with the generating vibration. A vibratory motion, which
recurs ¢ times in a second, cannot beget a diminutive one that
recurs 3 ¢, or 2 £ times; nor one originally impressed on the
region of the brain corresponding to the auditory nerves, beget
diminutive vibrations in the region corresponding to the optic
nerves; and so of the rest. The line of direction must likewise
be the same in the original and derivative vibrations. It
remains therefore, that each simple idea of sensation be at-
tended by diminutive vibrations of the same kind, place, and
line of direction, with the original vibrations attending the sen-
sation itself: or, in the words of the proposition, that sensory
vibrations, by being frequently repeated, beget a disposition to
diminutive vibrations corresponding to themselves respect-
ively. We may add, that the vibratory nature of the motion
which attends ideas, may be inferred from the continuance of
some ideas, visible ones for instance, in the fancy for a few
moments.

Prop. X.— Any Sensations A, B, C, &c. by being associated
with one another a sufficient Number of Times, get such a Power
over the corresponding Ideas a, b, c, &c. that any one of the
Sensations A, when impressed alone, shall be able to excite in
the Mind, b, c, &c. the Ideas of the rest.

SENSATIONS may be said to be associated together, when
their impressions are either made precisely at the same instant

324 DAVID HARTLEY

of time, or in the contiguous successive instants. We may
therefore distinguish association: into two sorts, the synchron-
ous, and the successive.

The influence of association over our ideas, opinions, and
affections, is so great and obvious, as scarcely to have escaped
the notice of any writer who has treated of these, though the
word association, in the particular sense here affixed to it, was
first brought into use by Mr. Locke. But all that has been
delivered by the ancients and moderns, concerning the power
of habit, custom, example, education, authority, party-
prejudice, the manner of learning the manual and liberal
arts, &c. goes upon this doctrine as its foundation, and may
be considered as the detail of it, in various circumstances.
I here begin with the simplest case, and shall proceed to
more and more complex ones continually, till I have ex-
hausted what has occurred to me upon this subject.

This proposition, or first and simplest case of association, is
manifest from innumerable common observations. Thus, the
names, smells, tastes, and tangible qualities of natural bodies,
suggest their visible appearances to the fancy, 2.e. excite their
visible ideas; and, vice versé, their visible appearances impressed
on the eye raise up those powers of reconnoitring their names,
smells, tastes, and tangible qualities, which may not improperly
be called their ideas, as above noted; and in some cases raise up
ideas, which may be compared with visible ones, in respect of
vividness. All which is plainly owing to the association of the
several sensible qualities of bodies with their names, and with
each other. It is remarkable, however, as being agreeable to
the superior vividness of visible and audible ideas, before taken
notice of, that the suggestion of the visible appearance from the
name is the most ready of any other; and, next to this, that of
the name from the visible appearance; in which last case, the
reality of the audible idea, when not evident to the fancy, may
be inferred from the ready pronunciation of the name. For it
will be shewn hereafter, that the audible idea is most commonly
a previous requisite to pronunciation. Other instances of the
power of association may be taken from compound visible and

OBSERVATIONS ON MAN 325

audible impressions. Thus the sight of part of a large building
suggests the idea of the rest instantaneously; and the sound of
the words which begin a familiar sentence, brings the remaining
part to our memories in order, the association of the parts being
synchronous in the first case, and successive in the last.

It is to be observed, that, in successive associations, the power
of raising the ideas is only exerted according to the order in
which the association is made. Thus, if the impressions A, B,C,
be always made in the order of the alphabet, B impressed alone
will not raise a, but c only. Agreeably to which it is easy to
tepeat familiar sentences in the order in which they always
occur, but impossible to do it readily in an inverted one. The
reason of this is, that the compound idea, c, b, a, corresponds to
the compound sensation C,'B, A; and therefore requires the im-
pression of C, B, A, in the same manner as a, J, c, does that of
A, B, C. This will, however, be more evident, when we come
to consider the associations of vibratory motions, in the next
proposition.

It is also to be observed, that the power of association grows
feebler, as the number either of synchronous or successive im-
pressions is increased, and does not extend, with due force, to
more than a small one, in the first and simplest cases. But, in
complex cases, or the associations of associations, of which the
memory, in its full extent, consists, the powers of the mind,
deducible from this source, will be found much greater than any
person, upon his first entrance on these inquiries, could well
imagine.

Prop. XI. — Any Vibrations, A, B, C, &c. by being associated
together a sufficient Number of Times, get such a Power over
a, b, c, &c. the corresponding Miniature Vibrations, that any
of the Vibrations A, when impressed alone, shall be able to
excite b, c, &c. the Miniatures of the rest.

THIS proposition may be deduced from the foregoing, in the
same manner as the ninth has been from the eighth.

But it seems also deducible from the nature of vibrations,
and of an animal body. Let A and B be two vibrations, asso-

326 DAVID HARTLEY

ciated synchronically. Now, it is evident, that the vibration A
(for I will, in this proposition, speak of A and B in the singular
number, for the sake of greater clearness) will, by endeavouring
to diffuse itself into those parts of the medullary substance which
are affected primarily by the vibration B, in some measure
modify and change B, soas to make B alittle different from what
it would be, if impressed alone. For the same reasons the vibra-
tion A will be a little affected, even in its primary seat, by the
endeavour of B to diffuse itself all over the medullary sub-
stance. Suppose now the vibrations A and B to be impressed at
the same instant, for a thousand times; it follows, from the
ninth proposition, that they will first overcome the disposition
to the natural vibrations NV, and then leave a tendency to them-
selves, which will now occupy the place of the original natural
tendency to vibrations. When therefore the vibration A is im-
pressed alone, it cannot be entirely such as the object would
excite of itself, but must lean, even in its primary seat, to the
modifications and changes induced by B, during their thousand
joint impressions; and therefore much more, in receding from
this primary seat, will it lean that way; and when it comes to
the seat of B, it will excite B’s miniature a little modified
and changed by itself.

Or thus: When A is impressed alone, some vibration must
take place in the primary seat of B, bothon account of the heat
and pulsation of the arteries, and because A will endeavour to
diffuse itself over the whole medullary substance. This cannot
be that part of the natural vibrations V, which belongs to this
region, because it is supposed to be overruled already. It can-
not be that which A impressed alone would have propagated
this region, because that has always hitherto been overruled,
and converted into B; and therefore cannot have begotten a
tendency to itself. It cannot be any full vivid vibration, such
as B, C, D, &c. belonging to this region, because all full vibra-
tions require the actual impression of an object upon the corre-
sponding external organ. And of miniature vibrations belong-
ing to this region, such as 8, c, d, &c. it is evident, that b has the
preference, since A leans to it a little, even in its own primary

OBSERVATIONS ON MAN 327

seat, more and more, in receding from this, and almost entirely,
when it comes to the primary seat of B. For the same reasons
B impressed alone will excite a; and, in general, if A, B, C, &c.
be vibrations synchronically impressed on different regions of
the medullary substance, A impressed alone will at last excite
b, c, &c. according to the proposition.

If A and B be vibrations impressed successively, fii will the
latter part of A, viz. that part which, according to the third and
fourth propositions, remains, after the impression of the object
ceases, be modified and altered by B, at the same time that it
will a little modify and alter it, till at last it be quite over-
powered by it, and end in it. It follows therefore, by a like
method of reasoning, that the successive impression of A and B,
sufficiently repeated, will so alter the medullary substance, as
that when A is impressed alone, its latter part shall be not such
as the sole impression of A requires, but lean towards B, and
end in 8 at last. But B will not excite a in a retrograde order;
since, by supposition, the latter part of B was not modified and
altered by A, but by some other vibration, such as C or D. And
as B, by being followed by C, may at last raise c; so b, when
raised by A, in the method here proposed, may be also suffi-
cient to raise c; inasmuch as the miniature c being a feeble mo-
tion, not stronger, perhaps, than the natural vibrations JN,
requires only to have its kind, place, and line of direction, de-
termined by association, the heat and arterial pulsation con-
veying to it the requisite degree of strength. And thus A im-
pressed alone will raise , c, &c. in successive associations,
as well as in synchronous ones, according to the proposi-
tion.

It seems also, that the influence of A may, in some degree,
reach through B to C; so that A of itself may have some effect
to raise c, as well as by means of 6. However, it is evident, that
this chain must break off, at last, in long successions; and that
sooner or later, according to the number and vigour of the
repeated impressions. The power of miniature vibrations to
raise other miniatures may, perhaps, be made clearer to mathe-
maticians, by hinting, that the efficacy of any vibration to raise

328 DAVID HARTLEY

any other, is not in the simple ratio of its vividness, but as some
power thereof less than unity; for thus 6 may raise c, a weaker
vibration than }, c may raise d, &c. with more facility than if
the efficacy was in the simple ratio of the vividness, and yet so
that the series shall break off at last.

If the ninth proposition be allowed, we may prove this in
somewhat a shorter and easier manner, as follows. Since the
vibrations A and B are impressed together, they must, from the
diffusion necessary to vibratory motions, run into one vibration ;
and consequently, after a number of impressions sufficiently
repeated, will leave a trace, or miniature, of themselves, as one
vibration, which will recur every now and them, from slight
causes. Much rather, therefore, may the part 6 of the com-
pound miniature a+6 recur, when the part A of the compound
original vibration A+B is impressed.

And as the ninth proposition may be thus made to prove the
present, so it ought to be acknowledged and remarked here,
that unless the ninth be allowed, the present cannot be proved,
or that the power of association is founded upon, and necessa-
rily requires, the previous power of forming ideas, and miniature
vibrations. For ideas, the miniature vibrations, must first be
generated, according to the eighth and ninth propositions,
before they can be associated, according to the tenth and this
eleventh. But then (which is very remarkable) this power of
forming ideas, and their corresponding miniature vibrations,
does equally presuppose the power of association. For since all
sensations and vibrations are infinitely divisible, in respect of
time and place, they could not leave any traces or images of
themselves, z.e. any ideas, or miniature vibrations, unless their
infinitesimal parts did cohere together through joint impres-
sion, 7.e. association. Thus, to mention a gross instance, we
could have no proper idea of a horse, unless the particular ideas
of the head, neck, body, legs, and tail, peculiar to this animal,
stuck to each other in the fancy, from frequent joint impres-
sion. And, therefore, in dreams, where complex associations are
much weakened, and various parcels of visible ideas, not joined
in nature, start up together in the fancy, contiguous to each

OBSERVATIONS ON MAN 329

other, we often see monsters, chimeras, and combinations,
which have never been actually presented.

) ; 4
° ° ° ° ° e e ° ° oe: e e
4

Prop. XII.— Simple Ideas will run into complex ones, by
Means of Association.

In order to explain and prove this proposition, it will be
requisite to give some previous account of the manner in
which simple ideas of sensation may be associated together.

Case 1. Let the sensation A be often associated with each of
the sensations B, C, D, &c. z.e. at certain times with B, at cer-
tain other times with C, &c. it is evident, from the tenth propo-
sition, that A, impressed alone, will, at last, raise 0, c, d, &c. all
together, 7.e. associate them with one another, provided they
belong to different regions of the medullary substance; for if
any two, or more, belong to the same region, since they cannot
exist together in their distinct forms, A will raise something
intermediate between them.

Case 2. If the sensations A, B, C, D, &c. be associated to-
gether, according to various combinations of twos, or even
threes, fours, &c. then will A raise b, c, d, &c. also B raise a, c, d,
&c. as in case the first.

It may happen, indeed, in both cases, that A may raise a par-
ticular miniature, as 6, preferably to any of the rest, from its
being more associated with B, from the novelty of the impres-
sion of B, from a tendency in the medullary substance to favour
b, &c. and in like manner, that } may raise c or d preferably to
the rest. However, all this will be overruled, at last, by the
recurrency of the associations; so that any one of the sensations
will excite the ideas of the rest at the same instant, z.e. associate
them together.

Case 3. Let A, B, C, D, &c. represent successive impressions,
it follows from the tenth and eleventh propositions, that A will
raise b, c, d, &c. B raise c, d, &c. And though the ideas do not,
in this case, rise precisely at the same instant, yet they come
nearer together than the sensations themselves did in their
original impression; so that these ideas are associated almost

330 DAVID HARTLEY

synchronically at last, and successively from the first. The
ideas come nearer to one another than the sensations, on ac-
count of their diminutive nature, by which all that appertains
to them is contracted. And this seems to be as agreeable to
observation as to theory.

Case 4. All compound impressions A+B+C+D, &c. after
sufficient repetition leave compound miniatures at+b+ctd,
&c. which recur every now and then from slight causes, as well
such as depend on association, as some which are different from
it. Now, in these recurrences of compound miniatures, the
parts are farther associated, and approach perpetually nearer
to each other, agreeably to what was just now observed; z.e. the
association becomes perpetually more close and intimate.

Case 5. When the ideas a, b, c, d, &c. have been sufficiently
associated in any one or more of the foregoing ways, if we sup-
pose any single idea of these, a for instance, to be raised by the
tendency of the medullary substance that way, by the associa-
tion of A with a foreign sensation or idea X or x, &c. this idea a,
thus raised, will frequently bring in all the rest, 0, c, d, &c. and
so associate all of them together still farther.

And upon the whole, it may appear to the reader, that the
simple ideas of sensation must run into clusters and combina-
tions, by associations; and that each of these will, at last, coal-
esce into one complex idea, by the approach and commixture
of the several compounding parts.

It appears also from observation, that many of our intel-
lectual ideas, such as those that belong to the heads of beauty,
honour, moral qualities, &c. are, in fact, thus composed of
parts, which, by degrees, coalesce into one complex idea.

CHARLES BONNET
(1720-1793)

ABSTRACT OF THE ANALYTICAL ESSAY
UPON THE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL

Translated from the French* by
BENJAMIN RAND

I. The senses the first source of our ideas

I HAVE set out from a well known and indubitable fact, and
one which no person will venture to deny. It is that one born
blind can never acquire our ideas of light and colors.’ His soul
has however the same faculties as ours. What then does he
lack in order to have these visual sensations ? — the organ
suitable to these sensations.

Suppose the person born blind were at the same time born
deaf, and had also from his birth been deprived of the senses of
touch, taste, and smell. I ask what ideas his soul would be able
to acquire?

The reply will possibly be made to me as it already has been,
that it would have at least the consciousness of its existence.
But how do we acquire the consciousness of our own existence?
Is it not by reflecting upon our own sensations? Or at least are
not our first sensations united to that consciousness, which
our soul always has that it is itself which experiences them?
And is this consciousness anything else than that of its exist-
ence? But how could a soul which has never had a sensation
know that it exists?

It would not be well to admit here a certain confused con-
sciousness of existence of which we could not form any idea. It

* Ch. Bonnet’s Essai Analytique sur les facultés de l’éme. Copenh. 1760.

Translated here from Bonnet’s Analyse abrégée de l’essai analytique (1769), in
his Ocuvres d’histoire naturelle et de philosophie. Neufchatel, 1779-83, tom. xv.

1 Bonnet’s Essaz analytique sur les facultés de ’Gme, § 17.

332 CHARLES BONNET

is better doubtless to receive only clear things and those about
which one can reason. The present thought cannot constitute
the essence of the soul. What would constitute it, at least
partly, would be rather the capacity for thoughts (cogitabilité).

II. Reflection, the second source of our ideas

I HAVE thus supposed as a principle that all our ideas are
derived originally from the senses. I have not said that our
ideas are purely sensory. I have shown very clearly and in great
detail, how reflection aided by the different kinds of signs rises
by degrees from sensations to the most abstract conceptions.’ I
have sufficiently investigated the theory of abstractions, and
have traced in general that of ideas.”

III. The union of soul and body and its law

THE objects themselves or the corpuscles which emanate
from them act upon the senses only by impulsion. They com-
municate to them a certain shock, which is transmitted to
the brain, and the soul experiences sensations.

The philosopher does not investigate how the movement of a
nerve causes an idea to arise in the soul. He simply admits the
fact and readily renounces the attempt of discovering the cause.
He knows that it springs from the mystery of the union of two
substances, and that this mystery is for him inscrutable.

It suffices for him to know that to the disturbance of this or
that nerve there always corresponds in the soul this or that
sensation. He does not regard the sensation as the physical
and immediate effect of the movement of the nerve, but as the
inseparable sequence of that movement. He regards this move-
ment as in some sort a natural sign of the sensation by divine
establishment.

IV. Man a composite being
I HAVE not affirmed that it is impossible for the soul to think
without a body. There perhaps exist pure spirits which have
ideas; but I am profoundly ignorant how they have them.
1 Chaps. XVI, XIx, § 28. 2 Chaps. XIV, XV, XVI.

THE FACOLTIES‘OF THE SOUL = 333

I know only that the feeling that I have of my ego is always
one, simple, indivisible; from which I infer that I am not
wholly material. I have very much amplified this excellent
proof. I admit then the existence of my soul as that of an
immaterial substance, which it has pleased the Creator to unite
to an organised body. I learn from the contemplation of my
being, that I result from the union of two very different sub-
stances.

In this order of things I perceive that I have ideas only by
the intervention of my body, and the more I reflect upon my-
self, the more I am compelled to recognise the great influence
of the machine’ upon all the operations of my soul.

I learn also from revelation that my soul will be eternally
joined to a portion of matter. I shall therefore be eternally a
composite being.

The purpose of the author of my being has therefore not been
that I should be a pure spirit. He has consequently willed that
my soul should use its faculties only by means of a body. If he
had willed otherwise I should have philosophized differently,
because I should have had another way of perceiving and
judging.

I have thus followed in my researches upon the economy of
our being the course which has appeared to me most to conform
to that of nature. My soul has no hold upon itself; it cannot see
itself, and it cannot feel itself; but it sees, and it feels bodies, by
the aid of the body to which it is united.

Its senses place it in relation with everything about it;
through them it is related to all parts of the universe; by
them it appropriates in some fashion all of nature, and even
reascends to its divine author.

V. The objects of our sensations real

I studied then the constitution of my senses, which are the
universal instruments of the operations of my soul. I gave
attentive heed to everything that takes place in them when
objects happen to strike them. I meditated upon the effects of

1 The group of organs which constitute the body of man.

334. CHARLES BONNET

those shocks, and upon the relationship that the fibres, which
are the seat of them, sustain with one another, and on the most
immediate consequences of these relationships.

As I was assured that my soul experiences no modification,
except upon occasion of something which happens to and
through its senses to that part of the brain which is the imme-
diate seat of feeling and of thought, I considered the play and
modifications of the sensory fibres as a sort of representation of
the corresponding modifications of my soul.

It is of very little importance for my purpose that I do not
err about the existence of bodies. Although the whole material
system should be only a phenomenon, a pure appearance, rela-
tive to my manner of perceiving and of judging, I should none
the less distinguish my sensations from one another. I would
not be the less assured that some are in my power, and that
others are not at all. I would also be none the less certain that
there exists apart from my soul something which excites in it
sensations independent of its will. That thing, whatever it may
be, is what I term matter.

I do not affirm that matter is in effect what it seems to me to
be; but I can reasonably affirm, that what seems to be results
essentially, both from that which it is itself, as well as from what
I am by reference to it. Beings which observe it under other
relationships than mine are of a different nature from mine. I
would see myself under other relationships, if my nature hap-
pened to change.

It would also be wholly indifferent to the purpose of my
researches to discuss the different hypotheses which have been
made in order to explain the union of the soul and of the body,
since all such hypotheses equally suppose a constant relation-
ship between the modifications of the soul and the movements
of the body.

It was necessary then always to devote one’s attention to the
play of the organs. It is fully permitted afterward to translate
every reasoning into the special language of the hypothesis
that has been adopted. I have confined myself to physical in-
fluence, not as a fact, but as that which seems to be.

THETPACULIIESTOF ‘THE SOUL” 448

VI. Specific differences of the sensory fibres

EACH sense has its mechanics, its manner of action, its end.
Each sense transmits to the soul a multitude of different im-
pressions to which correspond a like number of different sen-
sations.

It was not possible for me to conceive of fibres perfectly
similar being capable of receiving and transmitting without
confusion so many diverse impressions. It has seemed to me,
that each sensory fibre would in such a case be like a body
impelled at the same time by several forces acting in different
directions. This body would thereby receive a composite move-
ment which would be the product of those forces, and which
would represent none of those forces in particular.

Tn assuming this point of view I have not been able to render
an account to myself of the difference in my sensations. I have,
therefore, been compelled to suppose that there is in each sense
certain fibres appropriate to each kind of sensation.

I believe that I have discerned in the organisation of the
senses peculiarities which justify my supposition, and I have
indicated them.! The observations upon the difference of
refrangability of colored rays, and upon those of the vibrations
of strings of musical instruments, have appeared to me to add
an additional degree of probability to that conjecture.

VII. The physics of reminiscence

But my soul is not limited to feeling through the agency of
my senses. It has likewise recollection of that which it has felt.
Tt has the consciousness of the newness of a sensation. A sensa-
tion which has been presented to it many times does not affect
it precisely as at the first time.

It is always through the senses that objects come to the soul.
Those fibres which have been shocked many times cannot be
precisely in the state in which they were before they had been
disturbed. The repeated action of the object must change
them in some respect.

If a particular kind of sensation has been associated with a

1 Chap. vul.

336 CHARLES BONNET

special kind of fibre, the recollection of the sensation, or the
reminiscence, may have been associated with the present state
of the fibre. I have thus conjectured that the virgin fibres do
not affect the soul precisely as those do which are not so, and I
have attributed the feeling of novelty to that state of virginity
of the sensory fibres.*

By virtue of the union of the two substances nothing can take
place in the soul without something in the body correspond-
ing to it. It is this something which I have always sought,
though I do not flatter myself to have always encountered,
-and that very often I have only caught a glimpse of it.

VIII. The action of the soul upon the Senses indicated by the

nature and effects of the attention

My soul has a will, and exerts it. It has certain desires, and
is active. This activity, whatever may be its nature, must have
a subject on which it displays itself. It has not been possible
for me to discover for it any other than the sensory fibres. I
have therefore thought that as the senses act upon the soul, so
the soul may act in its turn upon the senses.

I have not said that the soul acts after the manner of the
body, as it is not body; but I have said that the effect of its
action corresponds to that of a body. In one word I have
admitted, that the soul causes the sensory fibres to vibrate at
its pleasure, and I have not undertaken to investigate the man-
ner of it.

Divers facts have appeared to me to establish that motive
power of the soul, and in particular the exercise of attention.
When it is too long continued, it gives rise in the soul to that
uncomfortable feeling, which we express by the term fatigue:

Strictly speaking can fatigue have its seat anywhere else
than in the organs? And is it not the soul itself, which occasions
fatigue, by an act of its will? If it did not will to be atten-
tive, it would not experience any fatigue. It acts, therefore,
upon the fibres which are the seat of this fatigue.

If the fatigue ceases when the soul changes its object, that is

1 Chap. Ix.

THE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL = 337

because it is acting upon other fibres. For we have seen, that
it is probable, that every object has in the brain certain fibres
which are adapted to it.

It is by the aid of these principles that I, perhaps the first,
have attempted to analyze the nature, and the effects of atten-
tion, and to prove that it is this valuable faculty which estab-
lishes the most difference between one man and another.

Excellent rules have been given us for directing and fixing
the attention; but sufficient investigation has not been made of
the physical foundation of these rules. You will never succeed
better in guiding man, than when you set out from the physical
constitution. It is always through the physical that you must
pass to reach the soul.

IX. The physics of the imagination and of the memory

THE ideas that objects excite in the soul can be recalled by
it without the intervention of objects. This reproduction of
ideas is due to imagination, and to memory. I have sought to
investigate how they operate, or what is the same thing, wherein
consists the physics of the imagination, and of the memory.”

The method, that I have followed to succeed, has seemed to
me very simple and sufficiently luminous. It is the same that
I have pursued in all my psychological researches. I have at
first directed my attention to what has immediately preceded.
Before investigating how an idea is reproduced, I have investi-
gated how it was produced.

I have clearly seen that the soul never has a new sensation,
except through the medium of the senses. It is to the shock of
certain fibres that such sensation has been originally as-
sociated. Its reproduction or its recall by imagination will still
be related to the shock of these same fibres.

Accidents, which can effect only the body, enfeeble and even
destroy the imagination and the memory. They have therefore
their seat in the body. And how could this seat be anything else
than the organs which transmit to the soul all outer impressions.

, ? Chaps. x1, xIx, § 628, 530, 533.
_ 2 Chap. xiv, § 212, 213, 214; chap. XX, § 546; chap. xxUJ, § 623, 624. -

338 CHARLES BONNET

It is therefore my belief that the sensory fibres are constituted
in such a manner, that the action more or less continued of the
objects produces on them determinations more or less durable,
which constitute the physics of memory.

I have never been able to say what these determinations are,
because the structure of the sensory fibres is to me unknown.
But if sense has its mechanics, I have thought that every kind
of sensory fibre can also have its own.

X. Important remarks upon the sensory fibres

I HAVE thus regarded each sensory fibre as a very small
organ, which has its own functions, or as a very small machine,
which the action of the objects keys to the tone which is
adapted toit. I have judged that the play or the conduct of the
fibre must result essentially from its primordial structure, and
this latter from the nature and arrangement of the elements.

It is impossible for me to represent these elements as of the
nature of simple bodies. I have regarded them as constituent
parts of a small organ, or as the different parts of a small
machine, designed to receive, to transmit, and to reproduce the
impression of the object to which it has been adapted.

I have therefore supposed that every kind of sensory fibre
has been originally patterned upon relationships that are
adapted to the manner of acting of its object.

This supposition has not appeared to me gratuitous. If the
eye does not act as the ear, it is because its structure is essen-
tially different, because light does not act like sound. The
fibres appropriate to different visual sensations have therefore
probably another structure than that of fibres adapted to per-
ceptions of hearing.

Nay more: each perception has its peculiar character which
makes us distinguish it from every other. For example, every
colored ray has an essence which is unchangeable. A red ray
for instance does not act precisely asa blueray. There are con-
sequently still among the fibres of vision certain differences
corresponding to those which exist among the rays.

_ I have not simply admitted that the fibres of sight are finer

THE FACULTIES OF THE SOUL 339

than those of hearing; that the vibrations of one are more
prompt than those of the other; and that among the fibres of
sight those which are adapted to the action of red rays are less
fine than those which are suited to the action of blue rays. This
does not appear to me sufficient to render an account of the
phenomena of memory.

I have indeed surmised that oscillations more or less rapid,
or other analogous movements, might perhaps suffice to
characterize the kind of sensation. I have not, however, under-
stood that they can at the same time serve to recall to the soul
the memory of the sensation. It has seemed to me that since
this memory is connected with the body, it must depend upon
some change which happened to the primitive state of the
sensory fibres through the action of objects.?

I have, therefore, admitted as probable that the state of the
fibres upon which an object has acted, is not precisely the same
after that action, as it was before. I have conjectured that the
sensory fibres thus experience modifications more or less dur-
able, which constitutes the physics of recollection, and of
memory.

I have not undertaken to determine in what these modifica-
tions consist. I know no fact which could throw light upon this
obscure point. But having regarded the sensory fibres as very
small organs, it has not been difficult for me to conceive that
the constituent parts of these organs may assume with reference
to one another new positions, or new relationships, to which
was attached the physics of memory.

This is the result of habit, of which so much is said, which
has so great an influence in human life, and of which I am not
aware that anyone has well developed the principle. I have
endeavored to explain how it is formed, rooted, weakened, and
obliterated.”

Ihave said on that occasion, “ not only doesthe fibre transmit
to the soul the impression of the object, but it recalls to it
furthermore the recollection of this impression. This remem-

1 Chap. vil, § 57, 58, 59.
2 Chap. Ix, p. 96, 97, etc.; chap. XXII, p. 641, 642, etc.

340 CHARLES BONNET

brance differs from the sensation itself only in the degree of its
intensity. It has therefore the same origin. It depends then as
the sensation itself upon a movement which is aroused in the
fibre; but on a weaker movement.

The carrying out of this movement requires a certain dispo-
sition in the integral parts of the fibre. The elements, therefore,
retain during a period of more or less length, the determinations
which they have received from the action of the object. It
keys up, so to speak, the fibre to its own tone, and while the
fibre remains keyed up in this way, it preserves the power of
recalling to the soul the memory of the sensation of the object.”

I added finally: “It is necessary therefore to regard the
fibre as a very small machine designed to produce a certain
movement. The capacity of this small machine to carry out
that movement depends originally upon its construction; and
that construction differentiates it from every other machine of
the same sort. The action of the object makes this capacity
active. It is that action which keys up the machine. As soon as
it is keyed up it plays at the moment that some impulse
occurs.”

For the rest, the reader ought not to have much difficulty in
understanding, how nature has been able to vary sufficiently
the structure of sensory fibres to provide for that prodigious
diversity of perceptions which weexperience. Howmuchhuman
art, so crude, so imperfect, so limited, varies its productions of
the same kind! How many different forms has it not been able
to give toa chain! What variety has it not put among the links
of different chains! Of how many combinations are not the
same elements susceptible! And how will it be when we suppose
the elements have been themselves diversified!

ETIENNE BONNOT DE CONDILLAC
(1715-1780)

TREATISE ON SENSATIONS —

Translated from the French * by
FREDERICK C. pe SUMICHRAST

CHAPTERT. THE FIRST NOTIONS: OF, A, MAN
POSSESSING THE SENSE OF SMELL ONLY

1. THE notions of our statue being limited to the sense of
smell, can include odours only. It cannot have any conception
of extent, of form, of anything external to itself, or to its sensa-
tions, any more than it can have of colour, sound or taste.

2. If we offer the statue a rose, it will be, in its relation to us,
a statue which smells a rose; but in relation to itself, it will be
merely the scent itself of the flower.

Therefore, according to the objects which act upon its organ,
it will be scent of rose, of carnation, of jasmine, of violet. In a
word, odours are, in this respect, merely modifications of the
statue itself or modes of being; and it is not capable of believ-
ing itself aught else, since these are the only sensations it can
feel.

3. Let those philosophers to whom it is so evident that every-
thing is material, put themselves for a moment in the place of
the statue, and let them reflect how they could suspect that there
exists anything resembling what we call matter.

4. We may then already be convinced that it is sufficient to
increase or to diminish the number of the senses to cause us to
come to conclusions wholly different from those which are at
present so natural to us, and our statue, limited to the sense of
smell, may thus enable us to comprehend somewhat the class
of beings whose notions are the most restricted.

* From Traité des Sensations, Paris and London, 1754.

342 CONDILLAC

CHAPTER JI. .OF THE OPERATIONS (OF. THE
MIND IN A MAN LIMITED TO THE SENSE OF
SMELL, AND OF THE FACT THAT THE DIF-
FERENT DEGREES OF PLEASURE AND OF PAIN
CONSTITUTE THE PRINCIPLE OF THESE OP-
ERATIONS.

1. With the first odour the capacity for feeling of our statue
is wholly taken up by the impression made upon its organ. I
call this attention.

2. From that moment it begins to enjoy or to suffer: for if the
power of feeling is wholly devoted to a pleasant odour, enjoy-
ment is the result; and if it be wholly devoted to an unpleasant
odour, suffering results.

3. But our statue has yet no idea of the different changes it
may experience. Therefore it is well; or it is not well, without
the desire to be better. Suffering is no more capable of exciting
in the statue a longing for an enjoyment of which it has no know-
ledge, than enjoyment is capable of making it fear an ill of which
it is equally ignorant. Consequently, no matter how disagree-
able the first sensation may be, even to the point of wounding
the organ and of being a violent pain, it cannot cause desire.

While suffering with us is always accompanied by the desire
not to suffer, it cannot be so with the statue. Pain creates that
desire in us only because the condition of non-suffering is al-
ready known to us. The habit we have contracted of looking
upon pain as a thing we have been without and of which we may
be freed, is the cause that the moment we suffer we immediately —
desire not to suffer, and this condition is inseparable from a
state of suffering.

But the statue which, at the first moment, is conscious of its
feeling only through the very pain it experiences, does not know
whether it can cease to be a statue and become something
else, or cease to exist. It has, as yet, no conception of change,
of succession or of duration. Therefore it exists without having
the power to form a desire.

TREATISE ON SENSATIONS 343

4. Once it has observed that it is capable of ceasing to be
what it is, in order to become once more what it was before, we
shall see its desires spring from a condition of pain, which it
will compare with a condition of pleasure recalled to it by mem-
ory. Thus it is that pleasure and pain are the sole principle
which, determining all the operations of its soul, will gradually
raise it to all the knowledge of which it is capable; and in order
to determine the progress of which it is susceptible, it will suffice
to observe the pleasure it will have to desire, the pains it will
have to fear, and the influence of either according to circum-
stances.

5. Supposing the statue to have no remembrance of the
changes it has undergone, then on every occasion of a change
it would believe itself to be conscious of sensation for the first
time: whole years would be swallowed up in each present. mo-
ment. Therefore by ever confining its attention to a single mode
of being, it would never reckon two together, and would never
note their relations to each other: it would enjoy or suffer, with-
out yet knowing desire or fear.

6. But the odour it smells does not, so soon as the odoriferous
object ceases to act upon its organ, become wholly lost to the
statue. The attention it bestowed upon it still retains the odour,
and there remains a more or less strong impression of that edour
in proportion as the attention itself has been more or less active.
That is memory.

7. When, therefore, our statue is a new odour, there is still
present to it the odour that it was the moment before. Its power
of feeling is divided between memory and the sense of smell,
the former of these faculties being attentive to the past sensation,
while the latter is attentive to the present sensation.

8. Thus there are in the statue two modes of feeling, differ-
ing only in this, that the one is concerned with a present sensa-
tion and the other with a sensation no longer existent, but the
impression of which still remains. Unaware of the fact that there
are objects which act upon it, unaware even of the fact that it
possesses an organ, the statue ordinarily distinguishes between
the remembrance of a sensation and a present sensation merely

344 CONDILLAC

by dimly feeling what it has been and feeling ene what it is
at the moment.

g. I say ordinarily, because coneraGraaee will not always be
a faint sentiment, nor sensation a lively one. For every time
that memory recalls very strongly these states of being, while,
on the contrary, the organ itself receives but slight impressions,
the consciousness of a present sensation will be much less vivid
than the remembrance of a sensation which has ceased to be.

ro. As, therefore, one odour is present to the sense of smell
through the impression made by an odoriferous body upon the
organ itself, so is another odour present in the memory, because
the impression made by another odoriferous body continues in
the brain, to which the organ of smell has transmitted it. Pass-
ing thus through two states of being, the statue feels that it is
no longer what it has been: the knowledge of this change causes
it to refer the first state to a different moment from that in which
it experiences the second state, and this it is which causes the
statue to make a distinction between palsiIny in one way and
having existed in another way.

11. The statue is active in relation to one of its two modes of
feeling, and passive in relation to the other. It is active when it
remembers a sensation, because it has within itself the cause
which brings about that recollection, that is memory. It is
passive at the moment when it experiences a sensation, because
the cause which produces it is external to the statue itself, that
is, it lies in the odoriferous bodies which act upon its sense of
smell.

12. But, unable even to suspect the action upon itself of ob-
jects external to it, it cannot distinguish between a cause within
itself and a cause outside of itself. As far as the statue is con-
cerned all the modifications of its state of being appear to it due
to itself, and whether it experiences a sensation or merely recalls
one, it is never aware of aught save that it is or has been in such
and such a state of being. It cannot, therefore, observe any
difference between the condition in which it is itself active or
that in which it is wholly passive.

13. Nevertheless the more numerous the occasions for the

TREATISE ON SENSATIONS 345

exercise of the memory the more readily will the memory act.
And it is in this way that the statue will acquire the habit of re-
calling without an effort the changes through which it has passed,
and of dividing its attention between what it has been and what
it is. For habit is merely the facility of repeating what one has
done, and that facility is acquired by the reiteration of the ac-
tions.

14. If, after having repeatedly smelled a rose and a carnation,
the statue once more smells a rose, the passive attention, acting
by the sense of smell, will be wholly given up to the present odour
of the rose, and the active attention, which acts through the
memory, will be divided between the remains of the scents of
the rose and of the carnation. Now these two states of being
cannot share the capacity for feeling without comparing them-
selves one with the other, for comparing is nothing else than
bestowing one’s attention upon two ideas at the same time.

15. From the moment that comparison exists, judgment exists.
_ Our statue cannot at one and the same time be attentive to the
scent of the rose and that of the carnation, without perceiving
that the one is not the same as the other, and it cannot be atten-
tive to the odour of a rose which it smells and to that of a rose
which it has previously smelled without perceiving that they are a
similar modification. Judgment, therefore, is simply the percep-
tion of the relation between two ideas which are being compared.

16. As the comparisons and conclusions become more fre-
quent the statue acquires greater facility in making them. It
contracts therefore the habit of comparing and judging. Con-
sequently it will be sufficient to make it smell other odours in
order to cause it to make additional comparisons, come to ad-
ditional conclusions and contract new habits.

17. The first sensation it experiences causes no surprise to
the statue, for it is as yet unaccustomed to form any kind of
judgment, nor is it surprised when, on smelling successively
different odours, it perceives each but for a moment. Under
these conditions it does not abide by any conclusion it has formed,
and the more the statue changes the more it feels itself naturally
inclined to change.

346 CONDILLAC

Nor will it feel any more surprise if we lead it, by unnotice-
able gradations, from the habit of: believing itself one odour to
the conclusion that it is another odour, for the statue changes
without having the power of noticing the change.

But it cannot fail to be surprised if it passes suddenly from a
condition to which it was accustomed to a totally different state
of which it had no previous conception.

18. This amazement causes it to feel more distinctly the differ-
ences between its modes of being. The more abrupt the change
from one to the other the greater the astonishment of the statue,
and the more is it struck by the contrast between the pleasures
and the pains which mark these changes. Its attention, excited
by pains which are more keenly felt, applies itself with greater
acuteness to the sensations which succeed each other. It there-
fore compares them more carefully; it judges more accurately
their relations to each other. Amazement consequently increases
the activity of the operations of its mind. But, because it is
by bringing out a more marked opposition between feelings of .
pleasure and feelings of pain that amazement thus increases
activity of mind, it follows that it is always pleasure and pain
which are the primary motive cause of its faculties.

1g. If each successive odour acts with equal force upon the
statue’s attention, the memory will remember them in the order
in which they followed each other, and they will by this means
become connected one with another.

If the series is numerous, the impression made by the most
recent odours, being the most recent, will be the strongest; the
impression made by the first in order will be imperceptibly
weakened, then disappear altogether, and these sensations will
be as if they had never been.

But if there be any which have acted but slightly upon the
attention, they will leave no impression behind them and will
be forgotten as soon as they have been perceived.

Finally the impressions which will have more vividly struck
the attention, will be more vividly recalled, and will so strongly
engage it that they will be capable of making it forget the others.

20. Memory therefore is a series of ideas forming a sort of

TREATISE ON SENSATIONS 347

chain. It is this connection which enables us to pass from one
idea to another, and to recall the most distant. Therefore we
remember an idea that we had some time since only because
we recall, more or less rapidly, the intermediary ideas.

21. In the case of the second sensation our statue experiences,
it has not to make any selection: it can remember but the first
sensation. It will merely act more or less vigorously, according
as it is inclined thereto by the intensity of the pleasure or the
pain.

But when there has been a succession of changes, the statue,
having a great number in remembrance, will be inclined to re-
call preferably those which can best contribute to its happiness,
passing rapidly over the others or dwelling on them only in spite
of itself.

To make this truth fully plain it is necessary to know the
different degrees of pain and of pleasure of which we are suscep-

tible, and the comparisons which may be drawn between them.

22. Pleasures and pains are of two kinds. Some pertain more
especially to the body: they are of the senses; others are within
the memory and all the faculties of the soul: these are intellectual
or spiritual. But this is a difference which the statue is incapable
of observing.

This inability preserves it from an error which we find it diffi-
cult to avoid, seeing that these sentiments do not differ one from
another as greatly as we imagine. In truth, they are all intellect-
ual and spiritual, since it is the soul only which is capable of
feeling. It may be said also that they are all likewise in a certain
sense sensible or corporeal, since the body is their sole occasion-
ing cause. It is only with reference to their relation to the facul-
ties of the body or those of the soul that we divide them into two
kinds.

23. Pleasure may diminish or increase by degrees; when it
diminishes, it tends to disappear, and it vanishes with the sensa-
tion. On the contrary, when it increases, it may attain to pain,
because the impression becomes too strong for the organ. Thus
there are two extreme points in pleasure: the weaker is that in
which sensation begins with the least power; it is the first step

348 CONDILLAC

from nothingness to feeling; the strongest is that when the sen-
sation cannot augment without ceasing to be agreeable; it is the
condition nearest to pain.

The impression of a faint pleasure seems to become concen-
trated in the organ which transmits it to the soul. But when it
has a certain amount of intensity, it is accompanied by an emo-
tion which spreads throughout the whole body. This emotion is
a fact which our experience places beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Pain, likewise, may increase or diminish. When it increases
it tends to the total destruction of the animal; but, when it dimin-
ishes, it does not, like pleasure, tend to the privation of all sense
of feeling; on the contrary, the moment which puts an end to it
is always pleasant.

24. It is impossible to discover among these various degrees
a state of indifference; with the first sensation, no matter how
weak it may be, the statue is necessarily ill or well. But once it
shall have experienced successively the sharpest pains and the
liveliest pleasures, it will consider indifferent, or will cease to’
regard as agreeable or disagreeable, the weaker sensations which
it will have compared with the stronger.

We may therefore suppose that there are for it divers degrees,
agreeable or disagreeable, in the modes of being, and others
which it regards as indifferent.

25. Whenever it is ill or less well, it recalls its past sensations,
compares them with its actual condition, and feels that it is
important that it should become once more what it was formerly.
Hence springs the need or knowledge of a state of well-being,
which it concludes that it needs to enjoy.

Therefore it knows that it has wants only because it compares
the pain from which it is suffering with the pleasures it has en-
joyed. Destroy in it the remembrance of these pleasures, and
the statue will be ill, without suspecting that it has any want,
for, in order to feel the need of anything, one must be acquainted
with it. Now, in the above supposititious case, the statue is not
acquainted with any other state of being than that in which it
finds itself. But once it recalls a happier state, its existing con-
dition at once causes it to feel the want of that state. Thus it is

TREATISE ON SENSATIONS 349

that pleasure and pain will always determine the action of its
faculties.

26. The want experienced by the statue may be caused by a
genuine pain, by a disagreeable sensation, by a sensation less
agreeable than those which have preceded it, or, finally, by a
state of languor, in which it is reduced to one of those states of
being which it has become accustomed to consider indifferent.

If its need is caused by an odour which gives it lively pain, the
need appropriates the power of feeling almost wholly, and leaves
only strength enough to the memory to remind the statue that it
has not always been so ill. Then it becomes incapable of compar-
ing the various states of being through which it has passed; it is
unable to judge which is the most agreeable. All that it desires
is to emerge from that condition in order to enjoy another, no
matter what it may be; and if it were acquainted with a means
of escaping from its suffering, it would apply all its faculties to
the making use of that means. It is thus that in serious sickness
we cease to desire the pleasures we formerly ardently sought, and
think only of regaining our health.

When it is a less agreeable sensation which gives rise to the
want, there are two cases to be distinguished: either the plea-
' sures. with which the statue compares that sensation have been
lively, and accompanied by the strongest emotions, or else they
have been less powerful and have scarcely moved it.

In the former case, the past happiness is recalled with the
greater force the more it differs from the immediate sensation.
The emotion which accompanied it is partly reproduced, and
drawing to itself almost the totality of the power of feeling, does
not permit the agreeable feelings which have preceded or fol-
lowed it to be noticed. The statue, then, experiencing no dis-
traction, compares more accurately that happiness with its pre-
sent state; it judges more truly how greatly that state differs
from the former, and, as it endeavours to depict it to itself in
the most vivid manner, the privation of that happiness gives rise
to a more insistent need, and the possession of it becomes a
much more necessary welfare.

In the second case, on the contrary, that state of happiness

350 CONDILLAC

is recalled with much less intensity: other pleasures divide the
attention; the advantages it offers are less felt; it reproduces but
little emotion or none at all. Therefore the statue is less inter-
ested in its return, and does not apply its faculties to it so ear-
nestly.

Finally, if the need springs from one of those sensations which
it has got into the habit of considering indifferent, it lives at first
without feeling either pain or pleasure. But this state, compared
with the happy situations in which it has found itself, soon
becomes disagreeable to the statue, and the pain it then expe-
riences is what we term ennui. Meanwhile the ennui lasts, in-
creases, becomes unbearable, and determines powerfully all the
faculties towards that happiness of which the statue feels the
loss.

This ennui may be as crushing as pain, in which case the statue
has no other thought than to get rid of it, and turns, without
selecting, to all the conditions of being which are fitted to cause
it to disappear. But if we diminish the burden of ennui the
condition of the statue will be less unhappy, it will feel less im-
periously the need of being-rid of it, it will be in a condition to
devote its attention to all the agreeable sentiments of which it
has any recollection, and it is the pleasure, the remembrance of
which it recalls in the liveliest manner, which will draw all the
faculties to itself.

27. There are then two principles which determine the degree
of action of its faculties: on the one hand, the lively remembrance
of a well-being it has lost; on the other, the small amount of plea-
sure in the sensation actually felt, or else the pain by which it is
accompanied.

When these two principles unite, the statue makes a greater
effort to recall what it has ceased to be, and it feels less what it
actually is. For its power of feeling being necessarily limited,
memory cannot attract a part of this power to itself without
leaving less to the sense of smell. Even if the action of this faculty
should be so strong as to appropriate to itself the whole power
of feeling, the statue will not observe any more the impression
made upon its organ, and it will recall its former condition in so

TREATISE ON SENSATIONS 351

lively a manner that it will believe itself to be still in that con-
dition.

28. But if its actual condition is the happiest it knows, then
pleasure induces it to enjoy it by preference. There no longer
exists any cause capable of inducing the mind to act strongly
enough to overbear the sense of smell to the extent of destroying
the feeling in it. Pleasure, on the contrary, concentrates at least
the greater part of the attention or of the capacity for feeling
upon the present sensation; and if the statue even yet recalls
what it has been, it is because the comparison with its present
state causes it to enjoy its happiness still more.

29. Here then are two of the effects of memory: the one is a
sensation which is recalled as strongly as if it were acting upon
the organ itself; the other is a sensation of which naught remains
but a faint recollection. ;

There are thus in the action of this faculty of memory two
degrees which we can establish: the weaker is that in which it
causes pleasure in the past to but a slight extent; the other that
in which it causes enjoyment of that past just as if the past
were the present.

It is called memory when it recalls things as past only, and it
is called zmagination when it recalls them so strongly that they
appear to be present. Imagination, therefore, is found in our
statue, as well as memory, and these two faculties differ in degree
only. Memory is the beginning of an imagination which is yet
still weak; imagination is memory itself, which has attained the
fullest power of which it is susceptible.

Having distinguished two forms of attention in the statue,
the one acting through the sense of smell, the other through the
memory, we may now note a third, which acts through the im-
agination, and the peculiarity of which is to stay the impressions
of the senses in order to substitute in their place a feeling inde-
pendent of external objects.

30. Nevertheless when the statue imagines a sensation which
it no longer is experiencing, and when it recalls it in as lively a
manner as if it were still experiencing it, it is not aware that there
exists in itself a cause which produces the same effect as would

352 CONDILLAC

be produced by an odoriferous body acting upon its organ of
smell. It cannot therefore distinguish, as we do, between im-
agination and feeling.

31. But we may presume that the imagination of the statue
will be more active than is our own. Its power of feeling is wholly
concentrated on a single kind of sensation; the whole force of
its faculties is devoted solely to odours; nothing can distract
it. But we are divided between a multitude of sensations and
ideas, which are constantly assailing us, and, devoting to our
imagination but a part of our powers, we imagine but feebly.
Besides, our senses, continually on their guard against our im-
agination, warn us constantly of the objects we seek to imagine,
while, on the contrary, the imagination of our statue is entirely
free to act. Therefore it recalls trustingly an odour which it has
enjoyed, and it does actually enjoy it, just as if its sense of smell
were affected by it. Finally the ease with which we can put aside
things offensive to us, and seek those the enjoyment of which
we prize, further contributes to render our imagination lazy.
But since our statue can escape from a disagreeable feeling
only by imagining strongly a condition of being in which it takes
pleasure, its imagination is more exercised by it, and must pro-
duce effects out of the power of our own to attain.

32. Yet there is one case in which the action of the statue’s
imagination is wholly suspended, and even also that of memory.
It is when a sensation is so vivid as to fulfil completely the power
of feeling. Then the statue is wholly passive. Pleasure becomes
for it a species of intoxication, in which there is scarcely any
enjoyment, and pain a crushing in which it scarcely suffers.

33. But the moment the sensation loses some degrees of its
intensity, forthwith the faculties of the soul become active once
more, and need becomes once again the cause which determines
their action.

34. The modifications which must give the greatest pleasure
to the statue are not always those it has most recently expe-
rienced. They may occur in the beginning or in the middle of
the chain of its knowledge, or at the end. Imagination, there-
fore, is frequently compelled to pass rapidly over intermediate

TREATISE ON SENSATIONS 353

ideas. It brings nearer the more distant, changes the order they
were in in the memory, and out of them forms an entirely new
chain.

The connection of ideas does not then follow the same order
in its faculties. The more that order it derives from the imagi-
nation becomes familiar to the statue, the less will it preserve
that order which memory has furnished it with. Thus ideas are
connected in innumerable different ways, and often the statue
will recall less the order in which it experienced its sensations
than the order in which it has imagined them to be.

35. All these series, however, are formed only through the
comparisons which have been made between each preceding
and each succeeding link in the chain, and through the conclu-
sions which have been drawn concerning their relation to each
other. This connection becomes stronger in proportion as the
use of the faculties strengthens the habits of recollection and
imagination; and this is the reason why we possess the surpris-
ing advantage of recognizing sensations we have already expe-
rienced.

36. For, indeed, if we cause our statue to smell an odour with
which it is familiar, it is a state of being which it has compared,
which it has drawn a conclusion from, and which it has linked
to some of the parts of the series which its memory is in the habit
of reviewing. That is why it concludes that the state in which
it finds itself is the same as that in which it formerly found itself.
But an odour which it has not yet smelled does not come within
this case, and therefore must strike it as quite new.

37. It is needless to point out that when it recognizes a state
of being it does so without being able to account for the fact.
The cause of a phenomenon of this sort is so difficult to make
out that all men who do not know how to observe and analyze
what is going on within them, are unable to perceive it.

38. But when the statue goes on a long time without thinking
of a state of being, what becomes, during that period, of the idea
it has formed of that state? When, later, that idea is recalled
by the memory, whence does it spring? Is it in the soul or in the
body that it has been preserved? In neither.

354 CONDILLAC

It is not in the soul, since an alteration in the brain is sufficient
to destroy the power of recalling the idea.

It is not in the body. The physical cause alone could be pre-
served there, and for that it would be necessary to suppose that
the brain would remain precisely in the condition into which it
was brought by the sensation which the statue remembers. But
how can that supposition be maintained in view of the con-
tinual movements of the mind? How can it be maintained,
especially when one considers the innumerable ideas stored in
the memory? The phenomenon may be explained in a much
simpler way.

I experience a given sensation when there occurs in one of my
organs a movement which is transmitted to the brain. If the
same movement originates in the brain and is transmitted to the
organ, I believe I experience a sensation which I do not really
experience: it is an illusion. But if the movement begins and
ends in the brain, I remember the sensation I have experienced.

When the statue recalls an idea, then, it is not because the
idea has been preserved in the body or in the soul; it is because
the movement, which is the physical and occasioning cause of
it, is reproduced in the brain. This, however, is not the place to
venture on conjectures concerning the mechanism of memory.
We preserve the remembrance of our sensations, we recall them,
although we have been a long time without thinking of them.
To bring this about it is sufficient that they should have strongly
impressed themselves upon us, or that we should have expe-
rienced them repeatedly. These facts authorize me to suppose
that our statue, organized as we are, is, like ourselves, able to
remember.

39. We conclude then that it has contracted several habits:
the habit of bestowing its attention; the habit of remember-
ing; a third habit of comparing; a fourth of judging; a fifth of
imagining; and finally one of recognizing.

40. The same causes which have produced habits are alone
capable of maintaining them. I mean that habits will become
lost unless they are renewed by actions reiterated from time to
time. In that case our statue will recall neither the comparisons

TREATISE ON SENSATIONS 355

between states of being which it has made, nor the conclusions
it has drawn from them, and it will experience a state of being
for the third or fourth time without being able to recognize it.

41. But we may ourselves help to maintain the practice of its
memory and of all its faculties. It is sufficient to induce it, by
different degrees of pleasure or of pain, to cling to its state of
being or to escape from it. The skill with which we make use of
its sensations will enable us to fortify and extend more and more
its habits. There is even ground for conjecturing that the statue
will distinguish, in a succession of odours, differences which we
fail to note. Compelled to apply all its faculties to a single sort
of sensation, may not the statue exhibit more discernment therein
than we do?

42. Yet the relations which its judgment can discover are
very few in number. It merely is aware that one state of being
is the same as a State in which it has already been, or else that it
is different; that the one is agreeable, the other disagreeable,
and both in a greater or less degree.

But will it distinguish between several odours smelled to-
gether? That is a power of discernment which we ourselves
acquire only by long practice, and even then within very narrow
limits, for there is no one who can recognize by the sense of
smell all the components of a sachet. Now it seems to me that
any mingling of odours must be a sachet to our statue.

It is the knowledge of odoriferous bodies, as we shall see later,
which has taught us to recognize two odours within a third.
After having smelled in turn a rose and a jonquil, we smelled
them together, and thus learned that the sensation caused in
us by these two flowers together is composed of two other sen-
sations. But if the odours be multiplied we can distinguish
those only which are strongest, and even then we shall not dis-
tinguish these if the mingling has been made so skilfully that
no one odour shall prevail over the others. In such a case they
appear to pass one into another, like colours ground up to-
gether; they unite and mingle so thoroughly that not one of them
remains what it originally was, and of many odours one alone
remains.

356 CONDILLAC

So if our statue, at the first moment of its existence, smells
two odours, it will not conclude that it is at one and the same
time in two states of being. But let us suppose that having
learned to know them separately, it smells them together: will
it recognize them? That does not appear probable to me. For,
unaware that they come from two different bodies, nothing can
lead it to suspect that the sensation it experiences is the sum of
two other sensations. Indeed, if neither prevail, it would be the
same with us, and if one of the two is fainter, it will merely alter
the stronger and they will together seem to be a simple state of
being. To convince ourselves of this we need only smell odours
which we are not accustomed to refer to separate bodies; I am
persuaded that we would not venture to affirm whether they are
one odour or several odours. And this is precisely the case of the
statue.

Therefore the statue acquires discernment only through the
attention it gives at one and the same time to a state of being
which it is actually experiencing and to another state which it
has previously experienced. Thus its judgments do not bear
upon two odours smelled at one and the same time, but upon
" successive sensations.

CHAPTER III. OF THE DESIRES, THE PASSIONS,
LOVE, HATE, HOPE, FEAR AND WILL IN A
MAN LIMITED TO THE'SENSE OF SMELL

1. We have just seen the character of the various kinds of
wants, and that they are the causes of the degrees of intensity
with which the faculties of the soul attach themselves to a state
of well-being, the enjoyment of which becomes a necessity. Now
desire is nothing else than the action of these faculties, when
these are directed towards the thing of which we feel the need.

2. Therefore every desire presupposes that the statue conceives
of a condition better than the one wherein it finds itself at the
time, and that it compares the difference between two states of
being succeeding each other. If they differ but little, its suffering
is less, in consequence of the deprivation of the mode of being

TREATISE ON SENSATIONS 357

that it desires; and I give the name of discomjort or slight dis-
content, to the feeling it experiences. In such a case both the
action of its faculties is less energetic and its desires are less
strong. On the contrary, it suffers more if the difference be great,
and I give the name of anxiety, or even of torment, to the im-
pression it then experiences. Therefore the difference between
these two states is the measure of the desire, and it is sufficient
to remember by how much the action of the faculties gains or
loses in intensity in order to know all the degrees of desires.

3. For instance, they are never so violent as when the facul-
ties of the statue tend to a state of well-being the loss of which
causes an anxiety the greater in proportion to the difference of
that wished-for state from the existing state. In such cases,
nothing can distract the statue’s attention from that condition:
it recalls it, it imagines it; all its faculties are concentrated upon
it. Consequently the more it desires it, the more it accustoms
itself to desire. In a word, it feels for it what we call a passion,
that is, a desire which prevents our feeling any other, or at least
is the most powerful one.

4. This passion persists so long as the state which is the object
of it continues to appear the most agreeable, and so long as the
absence of that state is accompanied by the same anxieties. But
it is replaced by another passion, if the-statue has occasion to
become accustomed to another condition to which it will give
the preference.

5. From the moment that enjoyment, suffering, need, desire,
passion exist in the statue, love and hate exist likewise. For the
statue loves a pleasant odour, which it enjoys or desires. It hates
a disagreeable odour, which causes it to suffer; finally, it likes
less a less agreeable odour, which it would fain exchange for

-another. In proof of this, it is sufficient to note that to love is
always synonymous with to enjoy or to desire, and that to hate
is similarly synonymous with suffering from discomfort, from
discontent, in the presence of some object.

6. As there may be several gradations in the amount of anxiety
caused by the loss of a pleasant object, and in the discontent
caused by the sight of an odious one, so may similar gradations

358 CONDILLAC

be noted in love and in hate. Indeed we even have words to
denote them: such as taste, inclination, tendency, aloofness,
repugnance, disgust. Although these words cannot be substi-
tuted for the words love, hate, none the less the feelings they
express are but the beginnings of these passions; they differ from
these merely in being weaker.

7. For the rest, the love of which our statue is capable, is but
love of self, or that which bears the name of self-love. For, in
truth, it loves but itself, seeing that the things it loves are but
its own states of being.

8. Hope and fear spring from the same principle as love and
hate.

Our statue, being in the habit of experiencing agreeable or —
disagreeable sensations, is led to conclude that it can experience
further sensations of the same sort. If this conclusion combines
with a sensation which pleases, it produces hope; and if it
combines with a sensation that displeases, it causes fear. For,
in fact, to hope is to flatter one’s self that one shall possess a
certain good; to fear, is to be threatened by an evil. It may be
noted that hope and fear contribute to increase desire. It is from
the conflict of these two feelings that the most violent passions
arise.

9. The remembrance that it has satisfied some of its desires
causes our statue to hope all the more to be able to satisfy other
desires, that, unaware of the obstacles which stand in the way,
it does not see why what it desires should not be within its power,
like what it has desired on other occasions. It is true that the
statue cannot make sure of this, but, on the other hand, it has
no proof of the contrary. If it more particularly remembers that
the same desire which it feels has formerly been followed by
enjoyment, it will believe itself capable of realizing it in propor-
tion as its want of it becomes greater. Thus two causes will con-
tribute to inspire it with confidence: the knowledge that it has
satisfied such a desire before, and its interest in satisfying it
once again. Henceforth the statue will not be satisfied with de-
siring; it will will; for by will is meant an absolute desire, such
that we consider that a thing we desire is in our power.

CONDILLAC 359

CHAPTER VI. OF THE EGO, OR PERSONALITY OF
A MAN LIMITED TO THE SENSE OF SMELL

1. Our statue being capable of remembering, it is no sooner
one odour than it remembers that it has been another. That is its
_ personality, for if it could say J, it would say it at every instant
of its own duration, and each time its J would comprise all the
moments it remembered.

2. True, it would not say it at the first odour. What is meant
by that term seems to me to suit only a being which notes in
the present moment, that it is no longer what it has been. So
long as it does not change, it exists without thought of itself; but
as soon as it changes, it concludes that it is the selfsame which
was formerly in such another state, and it says I.

This observation confirms the fact that in the first instant of
its existence the statue cannot form desires, for before being
able to say J wish, one must have said J.

3. The odours which the statue does not remember do not
therefore enter into the notion it has of its own person. Being as
foreign to its Zgo as are colours and sounds, of which it has no
knowledge, they are, in respect of the statue, as if the statue had
never smelled them. Its Ego is but the sum of the sensations it
experiences and of those which memory recalls to it. In a word,
it is at once the consciousness of what it is and the remembrance
of what it has been.

CHAPTER VII. CONCLUSIONS FROM THE PRE-
CEDING CHAPTERS

1. Having proved that the statue is capable of being attentive,
of remembering, of comparing, of judging, of discerning, of
imagining; that it possesses abstract notions, notions of number
and duration; that it is acquainted with general and particular
truths; that desires are formed by it, that it has the power of
passions, loves, hates, wills; and finally that it contracts habits,
we must conclude that the mind is endowed with as many facul-

360 TREATISE ON SENSATIONS

ties when it has but a single organ as when it has five. We shall
see that the faculties which appear to be peculiar to us are no-
thing else than the same faculties which, applied to a greater
number of objects, develop more fully.

2. If we consider that to remember, compare, judge, discern,
imagine, be astonished, have abstract notions, have notions of
duration and number, know general and particular truths, are
but different modes of attention; that to have passions, to love,
to hate, to hope, to fear and to will are but different modes of
desire, and that, finally, attention and desire are in their essence
but sensation, we shall conclude that sensation calls out all the
faculties of the soul.

3. Lastly, if we consider that there are no absolutely indiffer-
ent sensations, we shall further conclude that the different degrees
of pleasure and of pain constitute the law according to which
the germ of all that we are has developed in order to produce all
our faculties.

This principle may be called want, astonishment, or otherwise,
but it remains ever the same, for we are always moved by plea-
sure or by pain in whatever we are led to do by need or astonish-
ment.

The fact is that our earliest notions are pain or pleasure only.
Many others soon follow these, and give rise to comparisons,
whence spring our earliest needs and our earliest desires. Our
researches, undertaken for the purpose of satisfying these needs
and desires, cause us to acquire additional notions which in their
turn produce new desires. The surprise which makes us feel in-
tensely any extraordinary thing happening to us, increases from
time to time the activity of our faculties, and there is formed a
chain the links of which are alternately notions and desires, and
it is sufficient to follow up this chain to discover the progress of
the enlightening of man.

4. Nearly all that I have said about the faculties of the soul,
while treating of the sense of smell, I might have said if I had
taken any other sense; it is easy to apply all to each of the senses.
I have now only to examine what is peculiar to each of them.

e e ° ° e ° ° e e ° e e

THOMAS REID
(1710-1796)

ESSAYS ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS
OF MAN#*

ESSAY II. OF THE POWERS WE HAVE BY
MEANS OF OUR EXTERNAL SENSES

CHAPTER \V.--OF ‘PERCEPTION

In speaking of the impressions made on our organs in percep-
tion, we build upon facts borrowed from anatomy and physi-
ology, for which we have the testimony of our senses. But, being
now to speak of perception itself, which is solely an act of the
mind, we must appeal to another authority. The operations of
our minds are known, not by sense, but by consciousness, the
authority of which is as certain and as irresistible as that of
sense.

In order, however, to our having a distinct notion of any of
the operations of our own minds, it is not enough that we be
conscious of them; for all men have this consciousness. It is
farther necessary that we attend to them while they are ex-
erted, and reflect upon them with care, while they are recent
and freshin ourmemory. It isnecessary that, by employing our-
selves frequently in this way, we get the habit of this attention
and reflection; and, therefore, for the proof of facts which I shall
have occasion to mention upon this subject, I can only appeal
to the reader’s own thoughts, whether such facts are not agree-
able to what he is conscious of in his own mind.

If, therefore, we attend to that act of our mind which we call
the perception of an external object of sense, we shall find in it
these three things: — First, Some conception or notion of the

* Edinburgh, 178s.

362 THOMAS REID

object perceived; Secondly, A strong and irresistible conviction
and belief of its present existence; and, Thirdly, That this con-
viction and belief are immediate, and not the effect of reason-
ing.

First, It is impossible to perceive an object without having
some notion or conception of that which we perceive. We may,
indeed, conceive an object which we do not perceive; but, when
we perceive the object, we must have some conception of it at
the same time; and we have commonly a more clear and steady
notion of the object while we perceive it, than we have from
memory or imagination when it is not perceived. Yet, even in
perception, the notion which our senses give of the object may
be more or less clear, more or less distinct, in all possible degrees.

Thus we see more distinctly an object at a small than at a
great distance. An object at a great distance is seen more dis-
tinctly in a clear than in a foggy day. An object seen indis-
tinctly with the naked eye, on account of its smallness, may be
seen distinctly with a microscope. The objects in this room will
be seen by a person in the room less and less distinctly as the
light of the day fails; they pass through all the various degrees
of distinctness according to the degrees of the light, and, at
last, in total darkness they are not seen at all. What has been
said of the objects of sight is so easily applied to the objects of
the other senses, that the application may be left to the reader.

In a matter so obvious to every person capable of reflection,
it is necessary only farther to observe, that the notion which we
get of an object, merely by our external sense, ought not to be
confounded with that more scientific notion which aman, come
to the years of understanding, may have of the same object, by
attending to its various attributes, or to its various parts, and
their relation to each other, and to the whole. Thus, the notion
which a child has of a jack for roasting meat, will be acknow-
ledged to be very different from that of a man who understands
its construction, and perceives the relation of the parts to one
another, and to the whole. The child sees the jack and every
part of it as well as the man. The child, therefore, has all the
notion of it which sight gives; whatever there is more in the

THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN 363

notion which the man forms of it, must be derived from other
powers of the mind, which may afterwards be explained. This
observation is made here only that we may not confound the
operations of different powers of the mind, which by being
always conjoined after we grow up to updestanding, are apt to
pass for one and the same.

Secondly, In perception we not only have a notion more or
less distinct of the object perceived, but also an irresistible con-
viction and belief of its existence. This is always the case when
we are certain that we perceive it. There may be a perception
so faint and indistinct as to leave us in doubt whether we per-
ceive the object or not. Thus, when a star begins to twinkle as
the light of the sun withdraws, one may, for a short time, think
he sees it without being certain, until the perception acquire
some strength and steadiness. When a ship just begins to appear
in the utmost verge of the horizon, we may at first be dubious
whether we perceive it or not; but when the perception is in any
degree clear and steady, there remains no doubt of its reality;
and when the reality of the perception is ascertained, the exist-
ence of the object perceived can no longer be doubted.

By the laws of all nations, in the most solemn judicial trials,
wherein men’s fortunes and lives are at stake, the sentence
passes according to the testimony of eye or ear witnesses of
good credit. An upright judge will give a fair hearing to every
objection that can be made to the integrity of a witness, and
allow it to be possible that he may becorrupted; but no judge
will ever suppose that witnesses may be imposed upon by trust-
ing to their eyes and ears. And if a sceptical counsel should —
plead against the testimony of the witnesses, that they had no
other evidence for what they declared but the testimony of
their eyes and ears, and that we ought not to put so much
faith in our senses as to deprive men of life or fortune upon their
testimony, surely no upright judge would admit a plea of this
kind. I believe no counsel, however sceptical, ever dared to
offer such an argument; and, if it was offered, it would be
rejected with disdain.

Can any stronger proof be given that it is the universal judg-

364 THOMAS REID

ment of mankind that the evidence of sense is a kind of evi-
dence which we may securely rest upon in the most momentous
concerns of mankind; that it is a kind of evidence against which
we ought not to admit any reasoning; and, therefore that to
reason either for or against it is an insult to common sense?

The whole conduct of mankind in the daily occurrences of
life, as well as the solemn procedure of judicatories in the trial
of causes civil and criminal, demonstrates this. I know only of
two exceptions that may be offered against this being the uni-
versal belief of mankind.

The first exception is that of some lunatics who have been
persuaded of things that seem to contradict the clear testimony
of their senses. It is said there have been lunatics and hypo-
chondriacal persons, who seriously believed themselves to be
made of glass; and, in consequence of this, lived in continual
terror of having their brittle frame shivered into pieces.

All I have to say to this is, that our minds, in our present
state, are, as well as our bodies, liable to strange disorders; and,
as we do not judge of the natural constitution of the body from
the disorders or diseases to which it is subject from accidents,
so neither ought we to judge of the natural powers of the mind
from its disorders, but from its sound state. It is natural to
man, and common to the species, to have two hands and two
feet; yet I have seen a man, and a very ingenious one, who was
born without either hands or feet. It is natural to man to have
faculties superior to those of brutes; yet we see some individuals
whose faculties are not equal to those of many brutes; and the
wisest man may, by various accidents, be reduced to this state.
General rules that regard those whose intellects are sound are
not overthrown by instances of men whose intellects are hurt
by any constitutional or accidental disorder.

The other exception that may be made to the principle we
have laid down is that of some philosophers who have main-
tained that the testimony of sense is fallacious, and therefore
ought never to be trusted. Perhaps it might be a sufficient an-
swer to this to say, that there is nothing so absurd which some
philosophers have not maintained. It is one thing to profess a

THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN 36s

doctrine of this kind, another seriously to believe it, and to be
governed by it in the conduct of life. It is evident that aman
who did not believe his senses could not keep out of harm’s way
an hour of his life; yet, in all the history of philosophy, we never
read of any sceptic that ever stepped into fire or water be-
cause he did not believe his senses, or that shewed in the con-
duct of life less trust in his senses than other men have. This
gives us just ground to apprehend that philosophy was never
able to conquer that natural belief which men have in their
senses; and that all their subtile reasonings against this belief
were never able to persuade themselves.

It appears, therefore, that the clear and distinct testimony
of our senses carries irresistible conviction along with it to every
man in his right judgment.

I observed, Thirdly, That this conviction is not only irresisti-
ble, but it is immediate; that is, it is not by a train of reasoning
and argumentation that we come to be convinced of the exist-
ence of what we perceive; we ask no argument for the exist-
ence of the object, but that we perceive it; perception com-
mands our belief upon its own authority, and disdains to rest
its authority upon any reasoning whatsoever.

The conviction of a truth may be irresistible, and yet not
immediate. Thus, my conviction that the three angles of every
plain triangle are equal to two right angles, is irresistible, but it
is not immediate; I am convinced of it by demonstrative rea-
soning. There are other truths in mathematics of which we
have not only an irresistible but an immediate conviction.
Such are the axioms. Our belief of the axioms in mathematics
is not grounded upon argument — arguments are grounded
upon them; but their evidence is discerned immediately by the
human understanding.

It is, no doubt, one thing to have an immediate conviction of
a self-evident axiom; it is another thing to have an immediate
conviction of the existence of what we see; but the conviction
is equally immediate and equally irresistible in both cases. No
man thinks of seeking a reason to believe what he sees; and,
before we are capable of reasoning, we put no less confidence in

366 THOMAS REID

our senses than after. The rudest savage is as fully convinced
of what he sees, and hears, and feels, as the most expert logi-
cian. The constitution of our understanding determines us to
hold the truth of a mathematical axiom as a first principle, from
which other truths may be deduced, but it is deduced from none;
and the constitution of our power of perception determines us
to hold the existence of what we distinctly perceive as a first
principle, from which other truths may be deduced; but it is
deduced from none. What has been said of the irresistible and
immediate belief of the existence of objects distinctly per-
ceived, I mean only to affirm with regard to persons so far ad-
vanced in understanding as to distinguish objects of mere imag-
ination from things which have a real existence. Every man
knows that he may have a notion of Don Quixote, or of Gara-
gantua, without any belief that such persons ever existed; and
that of Julius Cesar and Oliver Cromwell, he has not only a
notion, but a belief that they did really exist. But whether child-
ren, from the time that they begin to use their senses, make a
distinction between things which are only conceived or imag-
ined, and things which really exist, may be doubted. Until we
are able to make this distinction, we cannot properly be said to
believe or to disbelieve the existence of anything. The belief of
the existence of anything seems to suppose a notion of existence
— a notion too abstract, perhaps, to enter into the mind of an
infant. I speak of the power of perception in those that are
adult and of a sound mind, who believe that there are some
things which do really exist; and that there are many things
conceived by themselves, and by others, which have no exist-
ence. That such persons do invariably ascribe existence to
everything which they distinctly perceive, without seeking rea-
sons or arguments for doing so, is perfectly evident from the
whole tenor of human life.

The account I have given of our perception of external
objects, is intended as a faithful delineation of what every
man, come to years of understanding, and capable of giving
attention to what passes in his own mind, may feel in himself.
In what manner the notion of external objects, and the imme-

THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN 367

diate belief of their existence, is produced by means of our
senses, I am not able to shew, and I do not pretend to shew. If
the power of perceiving external objects in certain circum-
stances, be a part of the original constitution of the human
mind, all attempts to account for it will be vain. No other
account can be given of the constitution of things, but the will
of Him that made them. As we can give no reason why matter
is extended and inert, why the mind thinks and is conscious of
its thoughts, but the will of Him who made both; so I suspect
we can give no other reason why, in certain circumstances, we.
perceive external objects, and in others do not.

The Supreme Being intended that we should have such
knowledge of the material objects that surround us, as is neces-
sary in order to our supplying the wants of nature, and avoiding
the dangers to which we are constantly exposed; and he has
admirably fitted our powers of perception to this purpose. If
the intelligence we have of external objects were to be got by
reasoning only, the greatest part of men would be destitute of
it; for the greatest part of men hardly ever learn to reason; and
in infancy and childhood no man can reason: Therefore, as this
intelligence of the objects that surround us, and from which we
may receive so much benefit or harm, is equally necessary to
children and to men, to the ignorant and to the learned, God in
his wisdom conveys it to us in a way that puts all upon a level.
The information of the senses is as perfect, and gives as full
conviction to the most ignorant as to the most learned.

CHAPTER XVI. OF SENSATION

Havin finished what I intend, with regard to that act of
mind which we call the preception of an external object, I pro-
ceed to consider another, which, by our constitution, is con-
joined with perception, and not with perception only, but with
many other acts of our minds; and that is sensation.

Almost all our perceptions have corresponding sensations
which constantly accompany them, and, on that account, are
very apt to be confounded with them. Neither ought we to

368 THOMAS REID

expect that the sensation, and its corresponding perception,
should be distinguished in common language, because the pur-
poses of common life do not require it. Language is made to
serve the purposes of ordinary conversation; and we have no
reason to expect that it should make distinctions that are not of
common use. Hence it happens, that a quality perceived, and
the sensation corresponding to that perception, often go under
the same name.

This makes the names of most of our sensations ambiguous,
and this ambiguity hath very much perplexed philosophers.
It will be necessary to give some instances, to illustrate the
distinction between our sensations and the objects of percep-
tion.

When I smell a rose, there is in this operation both sensation
and perception. The agreeable odour I feel, considered by
itself, without relation to any external object, is merely a sensa-
tion. It affects the mind in a certain way; and this affection of
the mind may be conceived, without a thought of the rose, or
any other object. This sensation can be nothing else than it is
felt to be. Its very essence consists in being felt; and, when
it is not felt, it is not. There is no difference between the
sensation and the feeling of it— they are one and the same
thing. It is for this reason that we before observed that, in
sensation, there is no object distinct from that act of the mind
by which it is felt — and this holds true with regard to all
sensations.

Let us next attend to the perception which we have in smell-
ing a rose. Perception has always an external object; and the
object of my perception, in this case, is that quality in the rose
which I discern by the sense of smell. Observing that the agree-
able sensation is raised when the rose is near, and ceases when
it is removed, I am led, by my nature, to conclude some quality
to be in the rose, which is the cause of this sensation. This qual-
ity in the rose is the object perceived; and that act of my mind
by which I have the conviction and belief of this quality, is
what in this case I call perception. |
~ But it is here to be observed, that the sensation I feel, and

THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN 369

the quality in the rose which I perceive, are both called by the
same name. The smell of a rose is the name given to both: so
that this name hath two meanings; and the distinguishing its

_ different meanings removes all perplexity, and enables us to
give clear and distinct answers to questions about which
philosophers have held much dispute.

Thus, if it is asked, whether the smell be in the rose, or in the
mind that feels it, the answer is obvious: That there are two
different things signified by the smell of a rose; one of which is
in the mind, and can be in nothing but in a sentient being; the
other is truly and properly in the rose. The sensation which I
feel is inmy mind. The mind is the sentient being; and, as the
rose is insentient, there can be no sensation, nor anything re-
sembling sensation in it. But this sensation in my mind is
occasioned by a certain quality in the rose, which is called by
the same name with the sensation, not on account of any simil-
itude, but because of their constant concomitancy.

All the names we have for smells, tastes, sounds, and for the
various degrees of heat and cold, have a like ambiguity; and
what has been said of the smell of a rose may be applied to
them. They signify both a sensation, and a qyality perceived
by means of that sensation. The first is the sign, the last the
thing signified. As both are conjoined by nature, and as the
purposes of common life do not require them to be disjoined
in our thoughts, they are both expressed by the same name:
and this ambiguity is to be found in all languages, because the
reason of it extends to all.

The same ambiguity is found in the names of such diseases
as are indicated by a particular painful sensation: such as the
toothache, the headache. The toothache signifies a painful
sensation, which can only be in a sentient being; but it signifies
also a disorder in the body, which has no similitude to a sensa-
tion, but is naturally connected with it.

Pressing my hand with force against the table, I feel pain,
and I feel the table to be hard. The pain is a sensation of the
mind, and there is nothing that resembles it in the table. The
hardness is in the table, nor is there anything resembling it in

370 THOMAS REID

the mind. Feeling is applied to both; but in a different sense;
being a word common to the act of sensation, and to that of
perceiving by the sense of touch.

I touch the table gently with my hand, and I feel it to be
smooth, hard, and cold. These are qualities of the table per-
ceived by touch; but I perceive them by means of a sensation
which indicates them. This sensation not being painful, I com-
monly give no attention to it. It carries my thought immedi-
ately to the thing signified by it, and is itself forgot, as if it had
never been. But, by repeating it, and turning my attention to
it, and abstracting my thought from the thing signified by it, I
find it to be merely a sensation, and that it has no similitude
to the hardness, smoothness, or coldness of the table, which are
signified by it.

It is indeed difficult, at first, to disjoin things in our attention
which have always been conjoined, and to make that an object
of reflection which never was so before; but some pains and
practice will overcome this difficulty in those who have got the
habit of reflecting on the operations of their own minds.

Although the present subject leads us only to consider the
sensations which we have by means of our external senses, yet
it will serve to illustrate what has been said, and, I apprehend,
is of importance in itself, to observe, that many operations of
mind, to which we give one name, and which we always con-
sider as one thing, are complex in their nature, and made up of
several more simple ingredients; and of these ingredients sensa-
tion very often makes one. Of this we shall give some instances.

The appetite of hunger includes an uneasy sensation, and a
desire of food. Sensation and desire are different acts of mind.
The last, from its nature, must have an object; the first has no
object. These two ingredients may always be separated in
thought — perhaps they sometimes are, in reality; but hunger
includes both.

Benevolence towards our fellow-creatures includes an agree-
able feeling; but it includes also a desire of the happiness of
others. The ancients commonly called it desire. Many mod-
erns choose rather to call it a feeling. Both are right: and they

THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN 371

only err who exclude either of the ingredients. Whether these
two ingredients are necessarily connected, is, perhaps, difficult
for us to determine, there being many necessary connections
which we do not perceive to be necessary; but we can disjoin
them in thought. They are different acts of the mind.

An uneasy feeling, and a desire, are, in like manner, the in-
gredients of malevolent affections; such as malice, envy, re-
venge. The passion of fear includes an uneasy sensation or
feeling, and an opinion of danger; and hope is made up of the
contrary ingredients. When we hear of a heroic action, the
sentiment which it raises in our mind, is made up of various
ingredients. There is in it an agreeable feeling, a benevolent
affection to the person, and a judgment or opinion of his merit.

If we thus analyse the various operations of our minds, we
shall find that many of them which we consider as perfectly
simple, because we have been accustomed to call them by one
name, are compounded of more simple ingredients; and that
sensation, or feeling, which is only a more refined kind of sensa-
tion, makes one ingredient, not only in the perception of
external objects, but in most operations of the mind.

A small degree of reflection may satisfy us that the number
and variety of our sensations and feelings is prodigious; for, to
omit all those which accompany our appetites, passions, and
affections, our moral sentiments and sentiments of taste, even
our external senses, furnish a great variety of sensations, differ-
ing in kind, and almost in every kind an endless variety of
degrees. Every variety we discern, with regard to taste, smell,
sound, colour, heat, and cold, and in the tangible qualities of
bodies, is indicated by a sensation corresponding to it.

The most general and the most important division of our
sensations and feelings, is into the agreeable, the disagreeable,
and the indifferent. Everything we call pleasure, happiness, or
enjoyment, on the one hand; and, on the other, everything we
call misery, pain, or uneasiness, is sensation or feeling; for no
man can for the present be more happy or more miserable than
he feels himself to be. He cannot be deceived with regard to the
enjoyment or suffering of the present moment.

372 THOMAS REID

But I apprehend that, besides the sensations that are either
agreeable or disagreeable, there is still a greater number that
are indifferent. To these we give so little attention, that they
have no pame, and are immediately forgot, as if they had never
been; and it requires attention to the operations of our minds
to be convinced of their existence.

For this end we may observe, that, to a good ear, every
human voice is distinguishable from all others. Some voices
are pleasant, some disagreeable; but the far greater part can
neither be said to be one nor the other. The same thing may be
said of other sounds, that no less of tastes, smells, and colours;
and, if we consider that our senses are in continual exercise
while we are awake, and some sensation attends every object
they present to us, and that familiar objects seldom raise any
emotion, pleasant or painful, we shall see reason, besides the
agreeable and disagreeable, to admit a third class of sensations
that may be called indifferent.

The sensations that are indifferent, are far from being use-
less. They serve as signs to distinguish things that differ; and
the information we have concerning things external, comes by
their means. Thus, if a man had no ear to receive pleasure from
the harmony or melody of sounds, he would still find the sense
of hearing of great utility. Though sounds give him neither
pleasure nor pain of themselves, they would give him much
useful information; and the like may be said of the sensations
we have by all the other senses.

As to the sensations and feelings that are agreeable or dis-
agreeable, they differ much not only in degree, but in kind and
in dignity. Some belong to the animal part of our nature, and
are common to us with the brutes; others belong to the rational
and moral part. The first are more properly called sensations;
the last, feelings. The French word sentiment is common to
both.

I shall conclude this chapter by observing that, as the con-
founding our sensations with that perception of external
objects which is constantly conjoined with them, has been the
occasion of most of the errors and false theories of philosophers

THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN 373

with regard to the senses; so the distinguishing these opera-
tions seems to me to be the key that leads to a right under-
standing of both.

Sensation, taken by itself, implies neither the conception nor
belief of any external object. It supposes a sentient being, and
a certain manner in which that being is affected; but it sup-
poses no more. Perception implies an immediate conviction
and belief of something external — something different both
from the mind that perceives, and from the act of perception.
Things so different in their nature ought to be distinguished;
but, by our constitution, they are always united. Every dif-
ferent perception is conjoined with a sensation that is proper to
it. The one is the sign, the other the thing signified. They
coalesce in our imagination. They are signified by one name,
and are considered as one simple operation. The purposes of
life do not require them to be distinguished.

It is the philosopher alone who has occasion to dis-
tinguish them, when he would analyse the operation com-
pounded of them. But he has no suspicion that there is
any composition in it; and to discover this requires a de-
gree of reflection which has been too little practised by
philosophers.

.
e e e e e e e ° e

THOMAS BROWN
(1778-1820)

LECTURES ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF
THE HUMAN MIND*

PART II

CHAPTER V...SECTION J... THE MUSCULAR
SENSATIONS

e ° e e e e e ° e e

In defining sensation, when we began our inquiry into its
nature, to be that affection of the mind, which is immediately
subsequent to the affection of certain organs, induced by the
action of external bodies; two assumptions were made, — the
existence of foreign changeable external bodies, as separate
from the mind, — and the existence of organs, also separate
from the mind, and in relation to it truly external, like other
bodies, but forming a permanent part of our corporeal frame,
and capable of being affected, in a certain manner, by the other
bodies, of which the existence was assumed. As far as our
analytical inquiry has yet proceeded, these assumptions are
assumptions still. We have not been able to detect, in the sens-
ations considered more than in any of our internal pleasures
or pains, any circumstances that seem to be indicative of a
material world without.

Our analytical inquiry itself, however, even in attempting to
~ trace the circumstances in which the belief originates, must pro-
ceed on that very belief. Accordingly, in examining our senses
of smell, taste, and hearing, I uniformly took for granted the
existence of odoriferous, sapid, and vibrating bodies, and con-

* Edinburgh, 1820. Reprinted from T. Brown’s A Treatise on the Philosophy
of the Human Mind, abridged by Levi Hedge, Cambridge, 1827, vol. 1.

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 375

sidered merely, whether the sensations excited by these, were,
of themselves, capable of communicating to us any knowledge
of the external and independent existence of the bodies which
excited them.

In the present stage of our inquiry, I must, in like manner,
take for granted the existence of bodies, which act, by their
contiguity or pressure, on our organs of touch, as the odoriferous
or sapid particles act on our nerves of smell and taste. All our
language is at present adapted to a system of external things.
There is no direct vocabulary of skepticism; and even the most
cautious and philosophic inquirer, therefore, must often be
obliged to express his doubt, or his dissent, in language that
implies affirmation. In the present case, when we attempt to
analyze our sensations, it is impossible to speak of the circum-
stances in which the infant is placed, or even to speak of the
infant himself, without that assumption which we have been
obliged to make. The real existence of an external universe, and
the belief of that existence, are, however, in themselves, per-
fectly separate and distinct; and it is not the existence of an
external world which we are now endeavouring to establish as
an object of belief. We are only endeavouring, in our analysis
of the sensations afforded by our different organs, to ascertain
in what circumstance the belief arises. There might be a world
of suns and planets, though there were no human being, whose
mind could be affected with belief of it; and even the most
zealous defenders of the reality of external nature must admit,
that, though no created thing but ourselves were in existence,
our mind might still have been so constituted, as to have the
very series of feelings, which form at present its successive
phenomena, and which are ascribed in no small number to the
action of external things.

Are the primary sensations derived from the organ of touch,
then, of such a kind as to afford us that knowledge, which they
are supposed to give of things without?

Let us imagine a being, endowed with the sense of touch, and
with every other sense and faculty of our mind, but not withany
previous knowledge of his own corporeal frame, or of other

376 THOMAS BROWN

things external, — and let us suppose a small body, of any
shape, to be pressed, for the first time, on his open hand. What-
ever feeling mere touch can give, directly of itself, would of
course be the same in this case, as now, when our knowledge is
increased and complicated, from many other sources.

Let the body, thus impressed, be supposed to be a small cube,
of the same temperature with the hand itself, that all consider-
ations of heat or cold may be excluded, and the feeling produced
be as simple as possible.

What, then, may we suppose the consequent feeling to be?

It will, I conceive, be a simple feeling of the kind already
spoken of, as capable of arising from the affection of a single
point of our organ of touch, —a feeling that varies indeed
with the quantity of pressure as the sensation of fragrance
varies with the number of the odorous particles, but involves
as little the notion of extension, as that notion is involved in the
mere fragrance of a violet or a rose. The connexion of this
original tactual feeling, however, with that of extension, is now
so indissoluble, as, indeed, it could not fail to become, in the cir-
cumstance in which it has uniformly arisen, that it is almost
impossible to conceive it as separate. We may perhaps, how-
ever, make a near approach to the conception of it, by using the
gentle gradual pressure of a small pointed body, which, in the
various slight feelings, excited by it, — before it penetrate the
cuticle, or cause any considerable pain, — may represent, in
some measure, the simple and immediate effect, which pressure
in any case produces, — exclusively of the associate feelings
which it indirectly suggests.

Those who have the curiosity to try the experiment, with any
small bodies, not absolutely pointed, — such as the head of a
pin, or any body of similar dimensions, — will be astonished to
feel, how very slightly, if at all, the notion of extension, or
figure, is involved in the feeling, even after all the intimate asso-
ciations of our experience; — certainly far less than the notion of
longitudinal distance seems to us to be involved in the immedi-
ate affections of our sense of sight.

- But the pressure of such a large body as the cube, which we

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 377

have supposed to be pressed against our organ of touch, now
awakens very different feelings. We perceive, as it were imme-
diately, form and hardness. May not, then, the knowledge of
resistance and extension, and consequently the belief of the
essential qualities of matter, be originally See ated by the
affections of this organ?

The feeling of resistance, — to begin with this, — is, I con-
ceive, to be ascribed, not to our organ of touch, but to our
muscular frame, as forming a distinct organ of sense; the affec-
tions of which, particularly as existing in combination with
other feelings, and modifying our judgments concerning these,
(as in the case of distant vision, for example,) are not less impor-
tant than those of our other sensitive organs. The sensations of
this class, are, indeed, in common circumstances, so obscure, as
to be scarcely heeded or remembered; but there is probably no
contraction, even of a single muscle, which is not attended with
some faint degree of sensation, that distinguishes it from the
contraction of other muscles, or from other degrees of contrac-
tion of the same muscle. Each motion of the visible limb,
whether produced by one or more of the invisible muscles, is
accompanied with a certain feeling, that may be complex,
indeed, as arising from various muscles, but which is consid-
ered by the mind as one; and it is this particular feeling, accom-
panying the particular visible motion, — whether the feeling
and the invisible parts contracted be truly simple or compound,
— which we distinguish from every other feeling accompanying
every other quantity of contraction. It is as if a man, born
blind, were to walk, for the first time, in a flower garden. He
would distinguish the fragrance of one parterre from the fra-
grance of another, though he might be altogether ignorant of
the separate odours united in each; and might even consider
as one simple perfume, what was, in truth, the mingled pro-
duct of a thousand.

Obscure as our muscular sensations are in common circum-
stances, there are other circumstances in which they make
themselves abundantly manifest. It is sufficient to refer to
phenomena of which every one must have been conscious in-

378 THOMAS BROWN

numeértable times, and which imply no disease nor lasting differ-
ence of state. What is the feeling of fatigue, for example, but a
muscular feeling? that is to say, a feeling of which our muscles
are as truly the organ, as our eye or ear is the organ of sight or
hearing. When a limb has been long exercised, without sufhi-
cient intervals of rest, the repetition of the contraction of its
muscles is accompanied, not with a slight and obscure sensa-
tion, but with one which amounts, if it be gradually increased,
to severe pain, and which, before it arrives at this, has passed
progressively through various stages of uneasiness. Even when.
there has been no previous fatigue, we cannot make a single
powerful effort at any time, without being sensible of the mus-
cular feeling connected with this effort. Of the pleasure which
attends more moderate exercise, every one must have been con-
scious in himself, even in his years of maturity, when he seldom
has recourse to it for the pleasure alone; and must remember,
still more, the happiness which it afforded him in other years,
when happiness was of less costly and laborious production
than at present. By that admirable provision, with which Na-
ture accommodates the blessings which she gives, to the wants
that stand in need of them, she has, in that early period, —
when the pleasure of mental freedom, and the ambitions of
busy life, are necessarily excluded, — made ample amends to
the little slave of affections, in that disposition to spontaneous
pleasure, which renders it almost an effort to be sad, as if exist-
ence itself were delight; giving him a fund of independent hap-
piness in the very air which she has poured around him, and the
ready limbs which move through it almost without his bidding.
In that beautiful passage, in which Goldsmith describes the
sounds that come in one mingled murmur from the village, who
does not feel the force of the happiness which is comprised in
the single line, that speaks of

“The playful children just let loose from school ?” }
It is not the mere freedom from the intellectual task, of which

we think; it is much more that burst of animal pleasure, which

1 Deserted Village, v. 120. .

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 379

is felt in every limb, when the long constraint that has repressed
it is removed, and the whole frame is given once more to all the
freedom of nature.

With the same happy provision with which she has consid-
ered the young of our own species, Nature has, in the other
animals, whose sources of general pleasure are still more limited
than in the child, converted their muscular frame into an organ
of delight. It is not in search of richer pasture, that the horse
gallops over his field, or the goat leaps from rock to rock; it is
for the luxury of the exercise itself. It is this appearance of
happy life which spreads a charm over every little group with
which Nature animates her scenery; and he who can look with-
out interest on the young lamb, as it frolics around the bush,
may gaze, indeed, on the magnificent landscape as it opens
before him, — but it will be with an eye which looks languidly,
and in vain, for pleasure which it cannot find.

Our muscular frame is not merely a part of the living ma-
chinery of motion, but is also truly an organ of sense. When I
move my arm, without resistance, I am conscious of a certain
feeling; when the motion is impeded by the presence of an ex-
ternal body, Iam conscious of a different feeling, arising partly,
indeed, from the mere sense of touch, in the moving limb com-
pressed, but not consisting merely in this compression, since,
when the same pressure is made by a foreign force, without any
muscular effort on my part, my general feeling is very different.
It is the feeling of this resistance to our progressive effort,
(combined, perhaps, with the mere tactual feeling) which
forms what we term our feeling of solidity, or hardness; and with-
out it the tactual feeling would be nothing more than a sensa-
tion indifferent or agreeable, or disagreeable or severely pain-
ful, according to the force of the pressure, in the particular case;
in the same way as the matter of heat, acting in different de-
grees on this very organ of touch, and on different portions of its
surface at different times, produces all the intermediate sensa-
tions, agreeable, disagreeable, or indifferent, from the pain of
excessive cold, to the pain of burning; and produces them in
like manner, without suggesting the presence of any solid body
external to ourselves.

380 THOMAS BROWN

Were the cue, therefore, in the case supposed, pressed for the
first time on the hand, it would excite a certain sensation, in-
deed, but not that of resistance, which always implies a muscu-
lar effort that is resisted, and consequently not that of hardness
which is a mode of resistance. It would be very different, how-
ever, if we fairly made the attempt to press against it; for then
our effort would be impeded, and the consequent feeling of
resistance would arise; which, as co-existing in this case, and in
every case of effort, with the particular sensation of touch,
might afterwards be suggested by it, on the simple recurrence
of the same sensation of touch, so as to excite the notion of
hardness in the body touched, without the renewal of any mus-
cular effort on our part, in the same manner as the angular sur-
faces of the cube, if we chance to turn our eye upon it, are sug-
gested by the mere plane of colour, which it presents to our
immediate vision, and which is all that our immediate vision
would, of itself, have made known to us. The feeling of resist-
ance, then, it will be admitted, and consequently of hardness,
and all the other modes of resistance, is a muscular, not a
tactual feeling.

SECTION II. SPACE PERCEPTION

The proof, that our perception of extension by touch, is not
an original and immediate perception of that sense, is alto-
gether independent of the success of any endeavour which may
be made, to discover the elements of the compound perception.
It would not be less true, that touch does not afford it, though
we should be incapable of pointing out any source, from which
it can be supposed to be derived.

To those who are wholly unacquainted with the theory of
vision, nothing certainly can seem more absurd than the asser-
tion, that we see, not with our eyes merely, but chiefly by the
medium of another organ, which the blind possess in as great
perfection as ourselves, and which at the moment of vision,

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 381

may perhaps be absolutely at rest. It will not be surprising,
therefore, though the element which seems to me to form the
most important constituent of our notion of extension should in
the same manner seem a very unlikely one.

This element is our feeling of succession, or time, — a feeling,
which necessarily involves the notion of divisibility or series of
parts, that is so essential a constituent of our more complex
notion of matter, — and to which notion of continuous divisi-
bility, if the notion of resistance be added, it is scarcely possible
for us to imagine, that we should not have acquired, by this
union, the very notion of physical extension, — that which has
parts, and that which resists our effort to grasp it.

That memory is a part of our mental constitution, and that
we are thus capable of thinking of a series of feelings, as succes-
sive to each other, the experience of every moment teaches us
sufficiently. This succession frequently repeated, suggests im-
mediately, or implies the notion of length, not metaphorically,
as is commonly said, but as absolutely as extension itself; and,
the greater the number of the successive feelings may have
been, the greater does this length appear. It is not possible for
us to look back on the years of our life, since they form truly a
progressive series, without regarding them as a sort of length,
which is more distinct indeed, the nearer the succession of feel-
ings, may be to the moment at which we consider them, but
which, however remote, is still felt by us as one continued length,
in the same manner, as when, after a journey of many hundred
miles, we look back, in our memory, on the distance over which
we have passed, we see, as it were, a long track of which some
parts, particularly the nearer parts, are sufficiently distinct, but
of which the rest seems lost in a sort of distant obscurity. The
line of our long journeying, — or, in other words, that almost
immeasurable line of plains, hills, declivities, marshes, bridges,
woods, — to endeavour to comprehend which in our thought,
seems an effort as fatiguing as the very journey itself, — we
know well, can be divided, into those various parts; and, in like
manner, the progressive line of time — or, in other words, the
continued succession, of which the joy, the hope, the fragrance,

382 THOMAS BROWN

the regret, the melody, the fear, and innumerable other affec-
tions of the mind, were parts, we feel that we can mentally
divide into those separate portions of the train. Continuous
length and divisibility, those great elementary notions of space,
and of all that space contains, are thus found in every succes-
sion of our feelings. There is no language in which time is not
described as long or short, — not from any metaphor — for no
mere arbitrary metaphor can be thus universal and inevitable,
as a form of human thought — but because it is truly impos-
sible for us to consider succession, without this notion of pro-
gressive divisibility attached to it; and it appears to us as ab-
surd to suppose, that by adding, to our retrospect of a week,
the events of the month preceding, we do not truly lengthen the
succession, as it would be to suppose, that we do not lengthen
the line of actual distance, by adding, to the few last stages of a
long journey, the many stages that preceded it.

. That which is progressive must have parts. Time, or succes-
sion, then involves the very notions of longitudinal extension
and divisibility, and involves these, without the notion of any
thing external to the mind itself; for though the mind of
man had been susceptible only of joy, grief, fear, hope, and the
other varieties of internal feeling, without the possibility of
being affected by external things, he would still have been capa-
ble of considering these feelings, as successive to each other, in a
long continued progression, divisible into separate parts. The
notions of length, then, and of divisibility, are not confined to
external things, but are involved in that very memory, by
which we consider the series of the past, — not in the memory
of distant events only, but in those first successions of feeling,
by which the mind originally became conscious of its own per-
manence and identity. The notion of time, then, is precisely
coeval with that of the mind itself; since it is implied in the
knowledge of succession, by which alone the mind acquires the
knowledge of its own reality, as something more than the mere
sensation of the present moment.

Conceiving the notion of time, therefore, that is to say, of
feelings past and present, to be thus one of the earliest notions

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 383

which the infant mind can form, so as to precede its notions of
external things, and to involve the notions of length and divisi-
bility, I am inclined to reverse exactly the process commonly ,
supposed; and, instead of deriving the measure of time from
extension, to derive the knowledge and original measure of
extension from time. That one notion or feeling of the mind
may be united indissolubly with other feelings, with which it
has frequently co-existed, and to which, but for this co-exist-
ence, it would seem to have no common relation, is sufficiently
shown by the phenomena of vision.

In what manner, however, is the notion of time peculiarly
associated with the simple sensation of touch, so as to form,
with it, the perception of extension? We are able, in the theory
of vision, to point out the co-existence of sensations which pro-
duce the subsequent union, that renders the perception of dis-
tance apparently immediate. If a similar co-existence of the
original sensations of touch, with the notion of continued and
divisible succession, cannot be pointed out in the present case,
the opinion which asserts it, must be considered merely as a
wild and extravagant conjecture.

The source of such a co-existence is not merely to be found,
but is at least as obvious, as that which is universally admitted
in the case of vision.

To proceed, then, — The hand is the great organ of touch.
It is composed of various articulations, that are easily move-
able, so as to adapt it readily to changes of shape, in accommo-
dation to the shape of the bodies which it grasps. If we shut
our hand gradually, or open it gradually, we find a certain
series of feelings, varying with each degree of the opening or
closing, and giving the notion of succession of a certain length.
In like manner, if we gradually extend our arms, in various
directions, or bring them nearer to us again, we find that each
degree of the motion is accompanied with a feeling that is dis-
tinct, so as to render us completely conscious of the progres-
sion. The gradual closing of the hand, therefore, must neces-
sarily give a succession of feelings, — a succession, which, of
itself, might, or rather must, furnish the notion of length in the

384 THOMAS BROWN

manner before stated, the length being different, according to
the degree of the closing; and the gradual stretching out of the
arm gives a succession of feelings, which, in like manner, must
furnish the notion of length, — the length being different ac-
cording to the degree of the stretching of the arm. To those
who have had opportunities of observing infants, I need not
say, how much use, or rather what constant use, the future
inquirer makes of his little fingers and arms; by the frequent
contraction of which, and the consequent renewal of the series
of feelings involved in each gradual contraction, he cannot fail
to become so well acquainted with the progress, as to distin-
guish each degree of contraction, and, at last, afterinnumerable
repetitions, to associate with each degree the notion of a certain
length of succession. The particular contraction, therefore,
when thus often repeated, becomes the representative of a cer-
tain length, in the same manner as shades of colour in vision
become ultimately representative of distance, — the same prin-
ciple of association, which forms the combination in the one
case, operating equally in the other.

In these circumstances of acquired knowledge, — after the
series of muscular feelings, in the voluntary closing of the hand,
has become so familiar, that the whole series is anticipated and
expected, as soon as the motion has begun, — when a ball, or
any other substance, is placed for the first time in the infant’s
hand, he feels that he can no longer perform the usual con-
traction, — or, in other words, since he does not fancy that he
has muscles which are contracted, he feels that the usual series
of sensations does not follow his will to renew it, — he knows
how much of the accustomed succession is still remaining; and
the notion of this particular length, which was expected, and
interrupted by a new sensation, is thus associated with the par-
ticular tactual feeling excited by the pressure of the ball, — the
greater or less magnitude of the ball preventing a greater or
less portion of the series of feelings in the accustomed contrac-
tion. By the frequent repetition of this tactual feeling, as asso-
ciated with that feeling which attends a certain progress of con-
traction, the two feelings at last flow together, as in the

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 38s

acquired perceptions of vision; and when the process has been
repeated with various bodies innumerable times, it becomes, at
last, as impossible to separate the mere tactual feeling from the
feeling of length, as to separate the whiteness of a sphere, in
vision, from that convexity of the sphere, which the eye, of it-
self, would have been for ever incapable of perceiving.

As yet, however, the only dimension of the knowledge of
which we have traced the origin, is mere length; and it must
still be explained, how we acquire the knowledge of the other
dimensions. If we had had but one muscle, it seems to me very
doubtful whether it would have been possible for us to have
associated with touch any other notion than that of mere
length. But nature has made provision for giving us a wider
knowledge, in the various muscles, which she has distributed
over different parts, so as to enable us to perform motions in
various directions at the same instant, and thus to have co-
existing series of feelings, each of which series was before con-
sidered as involving the notion of length. The infant bends one
finger gradually on the palm of his hand; the finger, thus
brought down, touches one part of the surface of the palm,
producing a certain affection of the organ of touch, and a con-
sequent sensation; and heacquires the notion of a certain length,
in the remembered succession of muscular feelings during the
contraction; — he bends another finger; it, too, touches a cer-
tain part of the surface of the palm, producing a certain feeling
of touch, that co-exists and combines, in like manner, with the
remembrance of a certain succession of muscular feelings.
When both fingers move together, the co-existence of the two
series of successive feelings, with each of which the mind is
familiar, gives the notion of co-existing lengths, which receive
a sort of unity, from the proximity in succession of the tactual
feelings in the contiguous parts of the palm which they touch, —
feelings, which have before been found to be proximate, when
the palm has been repeatedly pressed along a surface, and the
tactual feelings of these parts, which the closing fingers touch
at the same moment, were always immediately successive, —
as immediately successive, as any of the muscular feelings in

386 THOMAS BROWN

the series of contraction. When a body is placed in the infant’s
hand, and its little fingers are bent by it as before, sometimes
one finger only is impeded in its progress, sometimes two, some-
times three, — and he thus adds to the notion of mere length,
which would have been the same, whatever number of fingers
had been impeded, the notion of a certain number of proximate
and co-existing lengths, which is the very notion of breadth;
and with these, according as the body is larger or smaller, is
combined always the tactual affection produced by the press-
ure of the body, on more, or fewer, of the interior parts of the
palm, and fingers, which had before become, of themselves,
representative of certain lengths, in the manner described; and
the concurrence of these three varieties of length, in the single
feeling of resistance, in which they all seem to meet, when an
incompressible body is placed within the sphere of the clos-
ing fingers, — however rude the notions of concurring dimen-
sions may be, or rather must be, as at first formed, — seems at
least to afford the rude elements, from which, by the frequent
repetition of the feeling of resistance, together with the prox-
imate lengths, of which it has become representative, clearer
notions of the kind may gradually arise.

The progressive contractions of the various muscles which
move the arms as affording similar successions of feelings, may
be considered in precisely the same light, as sources of the
knowledge of extension; and, by their motion in various direc-
tions, at the same time with the motion of the fingers, they
concur powerfully, in modifying, and correcting, the informa-
tion received from these. The whole hand is brought, by the
motion of the arm, to touch one part of the face or body; it is
then moved, so as to touch another part, and with the frequent
succession of the simple feelings of touch, in these parts, is asso-
ciated the feeling of the intervening Jength, derived from the
sensations that accompanied the progressive contraction of the
arm. But the motion is not always the same; and, as the same
feeling of touch, in one part, is thus followed by various feelings
of touch in different parts, with various series of muscular feel-
ings between, the notion of length in various directions, that is

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 387

to say, of length in various series commencing from one power,
is obtained in another way. That the knowledge of extension,
or in other words, the association of the notion of succession
with the simple feelings of touch, will be rude and indistinct at
first, I have already admitted; but it will gradually become
more and more distinct and precise; as we can have no doubt,
that the perception of distance by the eye is, in the first stages
of visual association, very indistinct, and becomes clearer after
each repeated trial. For many weeks or months, all is confu-
sion in the visual perceptions, as much as in the tactual and
muscular. Indeed, we have abundant evidence of this contin-
ued progress of vision, even in mature life, when, in certain
professions that require nice perceptions of distance, the power
of perception itself, by the gradual acquisitions which it ob-.
tains from experience, seems to unfold itself more and more, in
proportion to the wants that require it.

It may be thought that the notion of time, or succession, is, in
this instance, a superfluous incumbrance of the theory, and that
the same advantage might be obtained, by supposing the mus-
cular feelings themselves, independently of the notion of their
succession, to be connected with the notion of particular
lengths. But this opinion, it must be remarked, would leave
the difficulty precisely as before; and sufficient evidence in con-
futation of it, may be found in a very simple experiment, which

‘it is in the power of any one to make. The experiment I cannot
but consider as of the more value, since it seems to me strongly
corroborative of the theory which I have ventured to propose;
for it shows, that, even after all the acquisitions which our
sense of touch has made, the notion of extension is still modi-
fied, in a manner the most striking and irresistible, by the mere
change of accustomed time. Let any one, with his eyes shut,
move his hand, with moderate velocity, along a part of a table,
or any other hard smooth surface; the portion over which he
presses, will appear of a certain length; let him move his hand
more rapidly, the portion of the surface pressed will appear
less; let him move his hand very slowly, and the length, accord-
ing to the degree of the slowness, will appear increased, in a

388 THOMAS BROWN

most wonderful proportion. In this case, there is precisely the
same quantity of muscular contraction, and the same quantity
of the organ of touch compressed, whether the motion be rapid,
moderate, or slow. The only circumstance of difference is the
time occupied in the succession of the feelings; and this differ-
ence is sufficient to give complete diversity to the notion of
length.

If any one, with his eyes shut, suffer his hand to be guided by
another, very slowly along any surface unknown to him, he will
find it impossible to form any accurate guess as to its length.
But it is not necessary, that we should be previously unac-
quainted with the extent of surface, along which the motion is
performed; for the illusion will be nearly the same, and the
experiment, of course, be still more striking, when the motion is
along a surface with which we are perfectly familiar, as a book
which we hold in our hand, or a desk at which we are accus-
tomed to sit.

This experiment is well fitted to show the influence of mere
difference of time, in our estimation of longitudinal extent. It
is an experiment, tried, unquestionably, in most unfavourable
circumstances, when our tactual feelings, representative of ex-
tension, are so strongly fixed, by the long experience of our
life; and yet, even now, it will be found, on moving the hand,
slowly and rapidly, along the same extent of surface, though
with precisely the same degree of pressure in both cases, that
it is as difficult to conceive the extent, thus slowly and rapidly
traversed, to bethesame, as it is difficult to conceive the extent
of visual distance to beexactly the same when we look alternately
through the different ends of an inverted telescope. If, when all
other circumstances are the same, the different visual feelings,
arising from difference of the mere direction of light, be repre-
sentative of length in the one case, — the longer or shorter suc-
cession of time, when all other circumstances are the same, has
surely as much reason to be considered a representative of it,
in the other case.

Are we, then, to believe, that feeling of extension, or in
other words, of the definite figure of bodies, is a simple

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 389.

feeling of touch, immediate, original, and independent of
time; or is there not rather reason to think, that it is a
compound feeling, of which time, that is to say, our notion
of succession, is an original element ?

PART III

CHAPTER I. SECTION II. SIMPLE AND RELA-
TIVE SUGGESTION

Our various states or affections of the mind, I have already
divided into two classes, according to the nature of the circum-
stances which precede them, — the External and the Internal,
—and this latter class into two orders, — our Intellectual
States of Mind, and our Emotions. It is with the intellectual
phenomena that we are at present concerned; and this order I
would arrange under two generic capacities, that appear to me
to comprehend or exhaust the phenomena of the order. The
whole order, as composed of feelings which arise immediately,
in consequence of certain former feelings of the mind may be
technically termed, in reference to these feelings which have
induced them, Suggestions; but, in the suggested feelings them-
selves, there is one striking difference. If we analyze out trains
of intellectual thought exclusively of the Emotions which may
co-exist or mingle with them, and of sensations that may be
accidentally excited by external objects, we shall find them to
be composed of two very distinct sets of feelings, — one set of
which are mere conceptions or images of the past, that rise,
image after image in regular sequence, but simply in succession,
without any feeling of relation necessarily involved, — while the
perceptions of relation, in the various objects of our thought,
form another set of feelings, of course as various as the relations
perceived. Conceptions and relations, — it is with these, and
with these alone, that we are intellectually conversant. There
is thus an evident ground for the arrangement of the internal
suggestions, that form our trains of thought, under two heads,

390 THOMAS BROWN

according as the feeling excited directly by some former feeling,
may be either a simple conception, in its turn, perhaps, giving
place to some other conception as transient; or may be, the
feeling of a relation which two or more objects of our thought
are considered by us as bearing to each other. There is, in
short, in the mind, a capacity of association; or, as for reasons
afterwards to be stated, I would rather term it, — the capacity
of Simple Suggestion, —by which feelings formerly existing,
are revived, in consequence of the mere existence of other feel-
ings, as there is also a capacity of feeling resemblance, differ-
ence, proportion, or relation in general, when two or more
external objects, or two or more feelings of the mind itself, are
considered by us, — which mental capacity, in distinction
from the former, I would term the capacity of Relative Sugges-
tion; and of these simple and relative suggestions, the whole of
our intellectual trains of thought are composed. As I am no
lover of new phrases, when the old can be used without danger

of mistake, I would very willingly substitute for the phrase,
relative suggestion, the term comparison, which is more familiar,
and expresses very nearly the same meaning. But comparison,
though it involve the feeling of relation, seems also to imply a
voluntary seeking for some relation, which is far from necessary
to the mere internal suggestion or feeling of the relation itself.
The resemblance of two objects strikes me, indeed, when I am
studiously comparing them; but it strikes me also, with not less
force, on many other occasions, when I had not previously been
forming the slightest intentional comparison. I prefer, there-
fore, a term which is applicable alike to both cases, when a rela-
tion is sought, and when it occurs, without any search or desire
of finding it.

The term judgment, in its strict philosophic sense, as the mere
perception of relation, is more exactly synonymous with the
phrase which I have employed, and might have been substi-
tuted with safety, if the vulgar use of the term, in many vague
significations, had not given some degree of indistinctness even
to the philosophical use of it. I may remark, too, that in our
works of logic and intellectual physiology, judgment and reason-

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND | 3901

ing are usually discussed separately, as if there were some es-
sential difference of their nature; and, therefore, since I include
them both, in the relative suggestions of which I shall after-
wards have to treat, it seems advisable, not to employ for the
whole, a name which is already appropriated, and very gener-
ally limited, to a part. As the rise in the mind of the feeling of
relation, from the mere perception or conception of objects, is
however, what I mean to denote by the phrase Relative Sugges-
tion; and as judgment, inits strictest sense, is nothing more than
this feeling of relation, — or any two or more objects, consid-
ered by us together, —I shall make no scruple to use the
shorter and more familiar term, as synonymous when there can
be no danger of its being misunderstood.
The intellectual states of the mind, then, to give a brief illus-
tration of my division, I consider as all referable to two generic
susceptibilities, — those of Simple Suggestion and Relative Sug-
gestion. Our perception or conception of one object excites, of
itself, and without any known cause, external to the mind, the
conception of some other object, as when the mere sound of our
friend’s name, suggests to us the conception of our friend him-
self, — in which case, the conception of our friend, which fol-
lows the perception of the sound, involves no feeling of any
common property with the sound which excites it, but is pre-
cisely the same state of mind, which might have been induced,
by various other previous circumstances, by the sight of the
chair on which he sat, — of the book which he read to us, — of
the landscape which he painted. This is Simple Suggestion.
But, together with this capacity of Simple Suggestion, by
which conception after conception arises in the mind, — pre-
cisely in the same manner, and in the same state, as each
might have formed a part of other trains, and in which the par-
ticular state of mind that arises by suggestion does not neces-
sarily involve any consideration of the state of mind which pre-
ceded it, — there is a suggestion of a very different sort, which
in every case involves the consideration, not of one phenome-
non of mind, but of two or more phenomena, and which con-
stitutes the feeling of agreement, disagreement, or relation of

392 THOMAS BROWN

some sort. I perceive, for example, a horse and a sheep at the
same moment. The perception of the two is followed by that
different state of mind which constitutes the feeling of their
agreement in certain respects, or of their disagreement in cer-
tain other respects. I think of the square of the hypotenuse of a
right-angled triangle, and of the squares of the two other sides;
— I feel the relation of equality. I see a dramatic representa-

... tion; I listen to the cold conceits which the author of the trag-

edy, in his omnipotent command over warriors and lovers of his
own creation, gives to his hero, in his most impassioned situa-
tions; — I am instantly struck with their unsuitableness to the
character and the circumstances. All the intellectual succes-
sions of feeling, in these cases, which constitute the perception
of relation, differ from the results of simple suggestion in neces-
sarily involving the consideration of two or more objects or
affections of mind, that immediately preceded them. I may
think of my friend, in the case of simple suggestion, — that is
to say, my mind may exist in the state which constitutes the
conception of my friend, without that previous state which
constitutes the perception of the sound of his name; for the
conception of him may be suggested by various objects and
remembrances. But I cannot in the cases of relative suggestion,
think of the resemblance of a horse and a sheep; of the propor-
tion of the squares of the sides of a right-angled triangle; or of
the want of the truth of nature in the expressions of a dramatic
hero, without those previous states of mind, which constitute
the conceptions of a horse and a sheep — of the sides of the
triangle, — or of the language of the warrior or lover, and the
circumstances of triumph, or hope, or despair, in which he is
exhibited to us by the creative artist.

With these two capacities of suggested feelings, simple and
relative, which are all that truly belong to the class of intel-
lectual states of the mind, — various emotions may concur, par-
ticularly that most general of all emotions, the emotion of
desire, in some one or other of its various forms. According as
this desire does or does not concur with them, the intellectual
states themselves appear to be different; and, by those who do

PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 393.

not make the necessary analysis, are supposed, therefore, to be
indicative of different powers. By simple suggestion, the
images of things, persons, events, pass in strange and rapid
succession; and a variety of names, expressive of different
powers, — conception, association, memory,— have been
given to this one simple law of our intellectual nature. But,
when we wish to remember some object; that is to say, when
we wish our mind to be affected in that particular manner,
which constitutes the conception of a particular thing, or per-
son, or event, — or when we wish to combine new images, in
some picture of fancy, this co-existence of desire, with the
simple course of suggestion, which continues still to follow its
own laws, as much as when no desire existed with it, — seems
to render the suggestion itself different; and recollection, and
imagination, or fancy, which are truly, as we shall afterwards
find, nothing more than the union of the suggested conceptions .
with certain specific permanent desires, are to us, as it were,
distinct additional powers of our mind, and are so arranged in
the systems of philosophers, who have not made the very sim-
ple analysis, which alone seems to be necessary for a more pre-
cise arrangement.

In like manner, those suggestions of another class, which
constitute our notions of proportion, resemblance, difference,
and all the variety of relations, may arise, when we have had
no previous desire of tracing the relations, or may arise after
that previous desire. But, when the feelings of relation seem to
us to arise spontaneously, they are not in themselves different
from the feelings of relation, that arise, in our intentional com-
parisons or judgments, in the longest series of ratiocination.
Of such ratiocination, they are truly the most important ele-
ments. The permanent desire of discovering something un-
known, or of establishing, or confuting, or illustrating, some
point of belief or conjecture, may co-exist, indeed, with the con-
tinued series of relations that are felt, but does not alter the
nature of that law, by which these judgments, or relative sug-
gestions, succeed each other.

There is no power to be found, but only the union of certain

304 THOMAS BROWN

intellectual states of the mind, with certain desires, — a species
of combination not more wonderful in itself, than any other
complex mental state, as when we, at the same moment, see
and smell a rose, — or listen to the voice of a friend, who has
been long absent from us, and see, at the same moment, that
face of affection, which is again giving confidence to our heart,
and gladness to our very eyes. é

Our intellectual states of mind, then, are either those resem-
blances of past affections of the mind, which arise by simple
suggestion, or those feelings of relation, which arise by what I
have termed relative suggestions, — the one set resulting, in-
deed, from some prior states of the mind, but not involving,
necessarily, any consideration of these previous states of mind,
which suggested them, — the other set, necessarily involving
the consideration of two or more objects, or two or more aftec-
tions of mind, as subjects of the relation which is felt.

JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART
(1776-1841)
A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY

Translated from the German* by
MARGARET kK. SMITH

PART FIRST. FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES

CHAPTER I. THE CONDITION OF CONCEPTS,
WHEN THEY ACT AS FORCES

10. Concepts become forces when they resist one another.
This resistance occurs when two or more opposed concepts
encounter one another.

At first let us take this proposition as simply as possible. In
this connection, therefore, we shall not think of complex nor of
compound concepts of any kind whatever; nor of such as indi-
cate an object with several characteristics, neither of anything
in time nor space, but of entirely simple concepts or sensations
— e.g., red, blue, sour, sweet, etc. It is not our purpose to con-
sider the general notions of the above-mentioned sensations,
but to consider such representations as may result from an
instantaneous act of sense-perception.

Again, the question concerning the origin of the sensations
mentioned does not belong here, much less has the discussion
to do with the consideration of anything else that might have
previously existed or occurred in the soul.

The proposition as it stands is that opposed concepts resist
one another. Concepts that are not opposed — e.g., a tone and
a color — may exist, in which case it will be assumed that such

* From Lehrbuch zer Psychologie, Lpg., 1816; 3 Aufl. 1882. Reprinted here

from J. F. Herbart’s A Text-Book in Psychology, translated by M. K. Smith,
New York, D. Appleton & Co., 1891.

396 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

concepts offer no resistance to one another. (Exceptions to this
latter proposition may occur, of which more hereafter.)

Resistance is an expression of force. To the resisting con-
cept, however, its action is quite accidental; it adjusts itself to
the attack which is mutual among concepts, and which is deter-
mined by the degree of opposition existing between them. This
opposition may be regarded as that by which they are affected
collectively. In themselves, however, concepts are not forces.

11. Now, what is the result of the resistance mentioned?

Do concepts partially or wholly destroy one another, or, not-
withstanding the resistance, do they remain unchanged?

Destroyed concepts are the same as none at all. However, if,
notwithstanding the mutual attack, concepts remain un-
changed, then one could not be removed or suppressed by an-
other (as we see every moment that they are). Finally, if all
that is conceived of each concept were changed by the contest,
then this would signify nothing more than, at the beginning,
quite another concept had been present in consciousness.

The presentation (concept), then, must yield without being
destroyed — i.e., the real concept is changed into an effort to
present itself.

Here it is in effect stated that, as soon as the hindrance
yields, the concept by its own effort will again make its appear-
ance in consciousness. In this lies the possibility (although not
for all cases the only ground) of reproduction.

12. When a concept becomes not entirely, but only in part,
transformed into an effort, we must guard against considering
this part as a severed portion of the whole concept. It has cer-
tainly a definite magnitude (upon the knowledge of which
much depends), but this magnitude indicates only a degree of
the obscuration of the whole concept. If the question be in
regard to several parts of one and the same concept, these parts
must not be regarded as different, severed portions, but the
smaller divisions may be regarded as being contained in the
larger. The same is true of the remainders after the collisions
—i.e., of those parts of a concept which remain unobscured,
for those parts are also degrees of the real concept.

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY 397

CHAPTER II. EQUILIBRIUM AND MOVEMENT OF
CONCEPTS

13. WHEN a sufficiency of opposition exists between con-
cepts, the latter are in equilibrium. They come only gradually
to this point. The continuous change of their degree of obscura-
tion may be called their movement.

The statics and mechanics of the mind have to do with the
‘ calculation of the equilibrium and movement of the concepts.

14. All investigations into the statics of the mind begin with
two different quantitative factors, viz., the sum (or the aggre-
gate amount) of the resistances and the ratio of their limita-
tion. The former is the quantity which rises from their en-
counter, to be divided between the opposing concepts. If one
knows how to state it, and knows also the ratio in which the dif-
ferent concepts yield in the encounter, then, by a simple calcu-
lation in proportion, the statical point of each concept — i.e.,
the degree of its obscuration in equilibrium — may be found.

15. The sum as well as the ratio of the mutual limitation
depends upon the strength of each individual concept which is
affected in inverse ratio to its strength, and upon the degree of
opposition between the two concepts. For their influence upon
each other stands in direct ratio to the strength of each.

The principle determining the sum of the mutual limitation
is, that it shall be considered as small as possible, because all
concepts strive against suppression, and certainly submit to no
more of it than is absolutely necessary.

16. By actual calculation, the remarkable result is obtained
that, in the case of the two concepts, the one never entirely
obscures the other, but, in the case of three or more, one is very
easily obscured, and can be made as ineffective — notwith-
standing its continuous struggle — as if it were not present at
all. Indeed, this obscuration may happen to a large number of
concepts as well as to one, and may be effected through the
agency of two, and even through the combined influence of
concepts less strong than those which are suppressed.

Here the expression ‘threshold of consciousness”? must be

398 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

explained, as we shall have occasion to use it. A concept is in
consciousness in so far as it is not suppressed, but is an actual
representation. When it rises out of a condition of complete
suppression, it enters into consciousness. Here, then, it is on
the threshold of consciousness. It is very important to deter-
mine by calculation the degree of strength which a concept
must attain in order to be able to stand beside two or more
stronger ones exactly on the threshold of consciousness, so that,
at the slightest yielding of the hindrance, it would begin to rise
into consciousness.

Norte. — The expression “A concept is in consciousness’? must
be distinguished from that, “I am conscious of my concept.” To the
latter belongs inner perception; to the former not. In psychology,
we need a word that will indicate the totality of all simultaneous
actual presentations. No word except consciousness can be found
for this purpose.

Here we are obliged to be content with a circumlocution — and
this all the more, because the inner perception which is usually
attributed to consciousness has no fixed limit where it begins or
ceases, and, moreover, the act of perceiving is not itself perceived;
so that, since we are not conscious of it in ourselves, we must exclude
it from consciousness, although it is an active knowing, and in no
way a restricted or suppressed concept.

17. Among the many, and, for the most part, very compli-
cated laws underlying the movement of concepts, the following
is the simplest:

While the arrested portion (Hemmungssumme) of the concept
sinks, the sinking part is at every moment proportional to the
part unsuppressed.

By this it is possible to calculate the whole course of the sink-
ing even to the statical point.

| Notre. — Mathematically, the above law may be expressed: ©
Ne 2
o=S [ste ) in which S=the aggregate amount suppressed,

t= the time elapsed during the encounter, « = the suppressed portion
of all the concepts in the time indicated by #.

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY 399

As the latter quantity is apportioned among the individual con-
cepts, it is found that those which fall directly beneath the statical
threshold (16) are very quickly driven thence, while the rest do not
reach exactly their statical point in any given finite time. On ac-
count of this latter circumstance, the concepts in the mind of a man
of most equable temperament are, while he is awake,.always in a
state of gentle motion. This is also the primary reason why the inner

perception never meets an object which holds it quite motionless. |
r \

18. When to several concepts already near equilibrium a
new one comes, a movement arises which causes them to sink
for a short time beneath their statical point, after which they
quickly and entirely of themselves rise again — something as a
_ liquid, when an object is thrown into it, first sinks and then
rises. In this corinection several remarkable circumstances
occur:

19. First, upon an occasion of this kind, one of the older con-
cepts may be removed entirely out of consciousness even by a
new concept that is much weaker than itself. In this case, how-
ever, the striving of the suppressed concept is not to be consid-
ered wholly ineffective, as shown above (see 16); it works with
all its force against the concepts in consciousness. Although its
object is not conceived, it produces a certain condition of con-
sciousness. The way in which these concepts are removed out
of consciousness and yet are effective therein may be indicated
by the expression, ‘They are on the mechanical threshold.”
The threshold mentioned above (16) is called for the sake of
distinction the statical threshold.

Note. — If the concepts on the statical threshold acted in the
same way as on the mechanical threshold we should find ourselves
in a state of the most intolerable uneasiness, or rather the body
would be subjected to a condition of tension that must in a few
moments prove fatal, even as under present conditions sudden fright
will sometimes cause death; for all the concepts which, as we are
accustomed to say, the memory preserves, and which we well know
can upon the slightest occasion be reproduced, are in a state of
incessant striving to rise, although the condition of consciousness is
not at all affected by them.

400 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

20. Second, the time during which one or more concepts
linger upon the mechanical threshold can be extended if a series
of new, although weaker, concepts come in succession to them.

Every employment to which we are unaccustomed puts us in
this condition. The earlier concepts are pressed back of the
later ones. The former, however, because they are the stronger,
remain tense, affect the physical organism more and more, and
finally make it necessary that the employment cease, when the
old concepts immediately rise, and we experience what is called
a feeling of relief which depends in part upon the physical
organism, although the first cause is purely psychological.

21. Third, when several concepts are driven in succession to
the mechanical threshold, several sudden successive changes in _
the laws of reciprocal movements arise.

In this way is to be explained the fact that the course of our
thoughts is so often inconsequent, abrupt, and apparently irre-
gular. This appearance deceives in the same way as the wan-
dering of the planets. The conformity to law in the human
mind resembles exactly that in the firmament.

Norte. — As a counterpart to the concepts which sink simul-
taneously are to be observed those which rise simultaneously,
especially when they rise free —i.e., when a restricting environ-
ment or a general pressure suddenly disappears. With the rising
the amount of suppression increases. Hence, in the case of three,
one may be, as it were, bent back, and under certain conditions
may sink quite to the threshold. Their elevation is greater than
the depression to which, sinking together, they would have pressed
one another, because in sinking the sum of their mutual limitation
depends upon the total strength, which in the gradual rising is
not the case.

CHAPTER III. COMPLICATIONS AND BLENDINGS

22. THE easily conceivable metaphysical reason why op-
posed concepts resist one another is the unity of the soul, of
which they are the self-preservations. This reason explains with-
out difficulty the combination of our concepts (which combina-

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY gor

tion is known to exist). If, on account of their opposition, they
did not suppress one another, all concepts would compose but
one act of one soul; and, indeed, in so far as they are not divided
into a manifold by any kind of arrests whatever, they really con-
stitute but one act. Concepts that are on the threshold of con-
sciousness can not enter into combination with others, as they
are completely transformed into effort directed against other
definite concepts, and are thereby, as it were, isolated. In con-
sciousness, however, concepts combine in two ways: First, con-
cepts which are not opposed or contrasted with one another (as
a tone and a color) so far as they meet unhindered, form a com-
plex; second, contrasted concepts [e.g., red and yellow], in so far
as they are effected neither by accidental foreign concepts nor
by unavoidable opposition, become blended (fused).

Complexes may be complete; blendings (fusions) from their
nature must always be (more or less) incomplete.

Note. — Of such complexes as are partially or almost complete,
we have remarkable instances in the concepts of things with several
characteristics and of words used as signs of thoughts. In the
mother-tongue the latter, words and thoughts, are so closely con-
nected that it would appear that we think by means of words.
(Concerning both examples more hereafter.) Among the blendings
are especially remarkable, partly those which include in themselves
an esthetic relation (which, taken psychologically, is created at the
same time with the blending), partly those which involve succession,
in which serial forms have their origin.

“9 3. That which is complicated or blended out of several con-
cepts furnishes an aggregate of force, and for this reason works
according to quite other statical and mechanical laws than
those according to which the individual concepts would have
acted. Also the thresholds of consciousness change according
to the complex or blending (fusion), so that on account of a
combination a concept of the very weakest kind may be able to
remain and exert an influence in consciousness.

Note 1.— The computation for complexes and blendings de-
pends upon the same principles as that for simple concepts; it is,

4o2 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

however, much more intricate, especially for the reason that in the
case of incomplete combinations the forces as well as their arrests
are only partially interwoven with one another (and do not fully
enter as factors into the product).

Note 2. — Combinations of concepts consist not only of two or
three members, but they often contain many members in very un-
equal degrees of complication, or blending, in which case no calcula-
tion can estimate the multiplicity. Nevertheless, from the latter,
the simplest cases may be chosen and the more intricate ones esti-
mated according to them. For every science the simplest laws are
the most important.

24. Problem: After an encounter between two concepts, P
and II, the remainders, 7 and p, are blended (or incompletely
united). The problem is to indicate what help one of the two
concepts, in case it should be still more suppressed, would
receive from the other.

Nore, — Solution: Let P be the helping concept; it helps with a
force equal to 7, but II can only appropriate this force in the ratio of

r
p: 11. Hence through P, I receives the help i and in the same way

P receives from II the help -

The proof lies immediately in the analysis of the ideas. It is
' plain that the two remainders, r and p, taken together, deter-
mine the degree of union between the two concepts. One of
them is the helping force; the other, compared with the con-
cept to which it belongs, is to be considered as a fraction of the
whole; and, of the totality of help which could be rendered by
the first remainder, it yields that portion which here attains
efficient activity.

25. The following principles may be observed here:

a. Beyond the point of union no help extends its influence.

If the concept II has more clearness in consciousness than the
remainder p indicates, then by striving of the concept P, which
might come to the help of the former, already more than
enough has been done; hence for the present it exerts no more
influence.

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY —§ 403

b. The farther the one of the concepts is below the point of
union, so much the more effectively does the other help.

Norte. — This gives the following differential equation:

rp p—o 5 _
T “ dt=du,

° : —rt
whence by integration w= fay
: : nice ( =e a)

This equation contains the germ of manifold investigations
which penetrate the whole of psychology. It is indeed so simple
that it can never really occur in the human soul, but all investiga-
tions into applied mathematics begin with such simple presupposi-
tions as only exist in abstraction —e.g., the mathematical lever,
or the laws of bodies falling in a vacuum. Here merely the influence
of the help is considered, which, if everything depended upon it
alone, would bring into consciousness during the time ¢ a quantity
» from II. Besides, if we take into consideration the single circum-
stance that II meets with an unavoidable arrest from other con-
cepts, then the calculation becomes so complicated that it can be
only approximately solved by an integration of the following form:

w= ad?wdt + bdwdl? + cwdi?,

It is self-evident that it much more nearly expresses the facts
which are to be observed experimentally.

26. The foregoing contains the foundation of the theory of
mediate reproduction, which, according to ordinary language,
is derived from the association of ideas or concepts. Before pur-
suing this further we must mention immediate reproduction —
i.e., that reproduction which by its own force follows upon the
yielding of the hindrances. The ordinary case is that a concept
gained by a new act of perception causes the old concept of the
same or of a similar object to rise into consciousness. This
occurs when the concept furnished by the new act of perception
presses back everything present in consciousness opposed to
the old concept, which is similar to the new one. Then, without
further difficulty, the old concept rises of itself. From this are
to be observed the following conditions, which are to be found
by calculation, of which, however, no idea can be given here:

404 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

a. In the beginning the rising is in proportion to the square
of the time, if the new act of perception occurs suddenly; but to
the cube of the time, if the latter (as is usual) is formed by a
gradual and lingering act of apprehension.

b. The course of the rising is adjusted principally to the
strength of the concept furnished by the new act of perception
in proportion to the opposing one which it has pressed back; but
the individual strength of the rising concept only has influence
under special conditions. It can, as it were, only use this
strength in the free space which is given to it.

c. The rising concept blends as such with the concept, similar
to it, furnished by the new act of perception. Since it does not
rise entirely, however, the blending is incomplete.

d. The fact that immediate reproduction is not limited
entirely to the old concept of exactly the same kind, but ex-
tends to the more or less similar so far as to receive partial free-
dom from the new act of perception, is of special importance.
The whole reproduction may be indicated by the name of
vaulting (or arching). In the case of a long duration, or of a fre-
quent repetition of a new act of perception, a second important
process, which we call tapering (or pointing), follows. The pe-
culiarity of this latter consists in the fact that the concepts
which are less similarare again arrested by the concepts received
through the new act of perception, as the old concepts bring
- with them into consciousness others which are opposed to the
new, so that finally the concept that is entirely homogeneous
finds itself alone favored, and forms, as it were, a tapering sum-
mit where the highest point of the vault (or arch) was hereto-
fore.

27. Where the circumstances allow, with this immediate
reproduction is united that mediate reproduction mentioned in
25. The concept P, mentioned above, is reproduced immedi-
ately (i.e., without the mediation of others), then the free space
allowed it may be regarded as that 7 (spoken of in 25) or as a
force which strives to raise the II blended with it to its point of
blending p.

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY 40s

-Notr.— As the free space gradually increasing (and again
decreasing) is given, we must for the present observation regard
: —fl A : 5
r in the formula o=p fee fs = as a variable quantity, and indeed
as a function of that quantity upon which the propositions in 26
depend.

28. The most important applications of the previous theories
are, if with different remainders 7, 7’, r’’, etc., of one and the
same concept P several II, II’, Il”, etc., are united, by which, for
the sake of brevity, we may assume the remainders of the lat-
ter, viz., p, p’, p’’, to be equal; also, II, II’, etc., may be equal.

A concept acts upon several united with it in the same series
according to the time in which its remainders (by which it is united
with those others according to quantity) stand.

Nore. — In order to avoid diffuseness, this most important law
is here only very incompletely expressed in words. We recognize it

; ; Tb Nes,
better and more clearly in the formula given: w=p hia us) if

instead of one 7 we substitute different smaller and greater, 7, r’, r’’,
etc. But the more exact calculation mentioned in 25 shows that the
II, I’, 11’, etc., blended with them, not only rise, but sink again, as
it were, to make place for each other, in and the order of r, r’, r’’, etc.

29. Here is discovered the ground of the genuine reproduc-
tion or of memory so far as it brings to us a series of concepts
in the same order in which they were first received. In order to
comprehend this, we must consider what union arises among
several concepts that are successively given.

Let a series, a, b, c, d, be given by perception; then, from the
first movement of the perception and during its continuance, a
is exposed to an arrest from other concepts already in conscious-
ness. In the mean time, a, already partially sunken in con-
sciousness, became more and more obscured when 6 came to it.
This 0 at first, unobscured, blended with the sinking a; then
followed c, which itself unobscured, united with b, which was
becoming obscured, and also with a, which was still more
obscured. Similarly followed d, to become united in different

406 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

degrees with a, b,c. From this arises a law for each of these
concepts that states how, after the whole series has been, for a
time, removed out of consciousness, upon the re-emergence of
one of the concepts of such a series into consciousness, every
, other concept of the same series is called up. Let it be assumed
that a rises first, then it is united more with 8, less with c, and
still less with d; backward, however, 0, c, and d are blended
collectively in an unobscured condition with the remainders of
a; hence a seeks to bring them all again into an unobscured
condition [i.e., into full consciousness]. But @ acts the most
quickly and strongly upon 6, more slowly upon ¢, still more
slowly upon d, etc., by which close investigation shows that b
sinks again, while ¢ rises, even as ¢ sinks when d rises; in short,
the series follows in the same order as first given. On the con-
trary, let us assume that c is originally reproduced, then c acts
upon d and the following members of the series exactly in the
same way as was indicated in the case of a —i.e., the series
c, d, etc., unfolds gradually in the order of its succession. On
the contrary, b and a experience quite another influence. The
unobscured ¢ was blended with their different remainders.
Then c acts upon them with its whole strength, and without
delay, but only to call back the remainders of a and 6 united with
it, to bring a part of 6 and a smaller part of a into consciousness.
Thus it happens that when we remember something in the mid-
dlé of a known series, the preceding part of the series presents
itself all at once in a lessened degree of clearness, while the por-
tion following comes before the mind in the same order as the
series it brings with it. But the series never runs backward; an
anagram from a well-comprehended word never originates
without intentional effort.

30. Several series may cross one another, e.g., a, b, c, d, e, and
a, B, c, 8, €, in which c is common to the two series. If ¢ were
reproduced alone, it would strive to call up d and eas well as 8
and €. If, however, 6 comes into consciousness first, then the
first series comes decidedly forward on account of the united
help of 6 and c, yet the oppositions among the members of both
series, in this case, have each their own influence.

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY = 407

We may remark that, to the simple type or model here given,
a variety of complicated psychological occurrences may be
adjusted. The same c can be held as the common point of inter-
section for many hundred series. On account of the manifold
oppositions in these series, the common ¢ may cause none of the
members to rise perceptibly, but so soon as 6 and @ come for-
ward, determining c more closely, the indecision will disappear,
and the uppermost series will really come before the mind.

31. The foregoing depends upon the difference presupposed
in the remainders 7, 7’, r’’, etc. (28). But in order that this dif-
ference may have its influence, the concept to which these re-
mainders belong must come forward sufficiently into conscious-
ness. Let it be granted that it is arrested to such a degree that
its active representation amounts to no more than that of the
smallest among the remainders 7, 7’, r’’, etc., then it works
equally on the whole series of concepts blended with it so that
a vague total impression of all comes into consciousness. The
reason for this is explained in sections 27 and 12. The re-
mainders are not different parts severed from one and the same
concept; hence if a little of the latter is in consciousness, we
must not first question whether this little may be one and per-
haps quite the smallest among those remainders, but we must
assume that it really is so, although at the same time it may be
a part of every other greater remainder. If the active concept
gradually rises into consciousness, then the remainders, from
the smaller to the greater, one after the other, gain a special
law of action. By this the above vague impression of the
whole rises, in which lies a whole series of concepts, and
these are gradually developed out of one another.

Nore. — Here, among others, must be compared the phenomena
resulting from exercise and skill; that, moreover, not every course
of thought repeats faithfully the series constructed; and upon that
is based, in part, the ground of the inequalities in the quantities IT
and p (25), with whose possible difference we can not deal further
here. Additional facts may be deduced from the following.

32. If free-rising concepts (of which mention was made in
the closing remarks of the last chapter) should blend in regular

408 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

gradation, they would be subject to other laws of reproduction
which originate out of the blending, and are distinguished and
determined according to their differences. Upon occasion, like-
wise arises a process of construction and formation of series
which differ from the form of analogous concepts in case the
latter are given and then sink out of consciousness. From this
may be explained the conflict between things as we perceive
them and as we think them, as well as the tendency to regard
them otherwise than as they first present themselves; conse-
quently the modifying action of the self-activity upon that
which lies before the perception. This may be observed espe-
cially in the case of children who can have no set purpose in
the matter. .

CHAPTER IV. CONCEPTS AS THE SOURCE
OF MENTAL STATES

33. ONE of the objections against mathematical psychology
is that {mathematics defines only quantity, while psychology’
must especially consider quality. It is now time to meet this
objection, and to collect the explanations of those mental states
which the foregoing presents.

Here we must first remark that the peculiar striving of con-
cepts for representation (11) never appears immediately in con-
sciousness, for, just so far as concepts change into striving, they
are removed out of consciousness. Also, the gradual sinking of
concepts can not be perceived. A special instance of this is,
that no one is able to observe his own falling asleep.

So far as it represents or conceives, the soul is called mind;
so far as it feels and desires, it is called the heart or disposition
(Gemiith.) The disposition of the heart, however, has its source in
the mind — in other words, feeling and desiring are conditions,
and, for the most part, changeable conditions of concepts. The
emotions indicate this, while experience, upon the whole, con-~
firms it: the man feels little of the joys and sorrows of his
youth; but what the boy learns correctly, the graybeard still
knows. The extent, however, to which a steadfast disposition

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY —§ 409

and, above all, character can be given, will be shown later in the
explanations of the principles above presented.

34. First, there is a blending of concepts not only after the
arrest (22), but quite a different one before it, provided the
degree of opposition (15) be sufficiently small. A principle of
zsthetic judgment lies in this. Pleasant feelings in their nar-
rowest sense, together with their opposites, must be regarded as
analogous to these esthetic judgments —i.e., as springing
from the relation of many concepts which do not assert them-
selves individually, but rather which perhaps, for psychological
reasons, can not be perceived when separated.

Norte. — In carrying out this investigation, the series of tone
relations upon which music depends may be presented as a subject
of experiment. Among simple tones, the degree of arrest (the inter-
val of tones), entirely alone and without means, determines the
zsthetic character of its relation. It is also certain that the psycho-
logical explanation (widely different from the acoustical) of all har-
mony is to be sought in the difference between the degrees of arrest,
and that it must be found there. The necessary calculations for this
are, for the most part, to be found in the second volume of the Konigs-
berg Archives for Philosophy. Of the somewhat extensive investiga-
tions, only the principal ones which experience decidedly confirms
can be given here:

When the forces, into which concepts, through their similarity
and their contrasts, separate one another, are equally strong, there
arises disharmony. If, however, one of these forces be opposed to
the others in such a relation that it is driven to the statical thres-
hold (16) by them, then a harmonious relation will prevail.

35. Second, a principle of contrast is to be found in the com-
plexes (22), which we here consider complete. The complexes
ata and 6+ 8 are similar, provided a:¢=06:f; if not, they
are dissimilar. Let the degree of arrest between a and 6 equal p,
and that between a and B equal 7. Now, if in similar com-
plexes, =77, then, and then only, will the individual concepts
be arrested, exactly as if they had not been in any combina-
tion; also no feeling of contrast arises, inasmuch as the arrest is
successful only when the opposing forces bring the feeling of

410 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

contrast with them; but, in every variation from the case pre-
sented, the less opposed concepts are affected by their com-
bination with the other two, but in this very way a part of the
arrest will be withheld from the latter; consequently, notwith-
standing the opposition, ‘something remains in consciousness
that resists, and in this lies the feeling of contrast. If 7< p,
then the contrast between a and 6 will be felt, not that between
a and B. If 7>P, the case is reversed. When 7 =O, the con-
trast between a and 0 is the greatest.

36. Third, a complex a+a is reproduced by a concept furn-
ished by a new act of perception similar to a (26). Now, when
a, on account of its combination with a, comes forward, it
meets in consciousness a concept opposed to it, 8B. Then a will
be at the same time, driven forward and held back. In this situa-
tion, it is the source of an unpleasant feeling which may give
rise to desire, viz., for the object represented by a provided
the opposition offered by 8 is weaker than the force which
a brings with it.

This is ordinarily the case; desires are excited by a remem-
brance of their object. When the remembrance is strengthened
by several incidental concepts, the impulses of desire are re-
newed. As often as the opposing concepts (i.e., concepts of the
hindrances which stand in the way of the longing) attain pre-
ponderance, they produce a painful feeling of privation.

37. Fourth, a concept comes forward into consciousness by
its own strength (perhaps reproduced according to the method
described in 26), at the same time being called forward by
several helping concepts (24). Since each of these helps has its
own measure of time in which it acts (according to the formula
in 25), then the helps may strengthen one another against a pos-
sible resistance, but they can not increase their own velocity.
The movement in advancing takes place only with that velo-
city which is the greatest among several concepts meeting to-
gether, but zt is favored by all the rest. This favoring is part of the
process which takes place in consciousness, but in no way is it
anything represented or conceived. Hence it can only be called .
a feeling — without doubt a feeling of pleasure.

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY § 411

Here is the source of the cheerful disposition, especially of
joy in successful activity. Here belong various movements,
instigated from without, which do not accelerate but favor one
another as in the case of dancing and music. Of the same char-
acter is the action according to several centering motives, and
such too is the insight based on understanding several reasons
which confirm one another.

38. In general, it may be observed that feelings and desires
have not their source in the process or act of conception in gen-
eral, but always in certain particular concepts. Hence there
may be at the same time many different feelings and desires,
and these may either agree or entirely disagree one with the
other.

CHAPTER V. THE CO-OPERATION OF SEVERAL
' MASSES OF CONCEPTS OF UNEQUAL STRENGTH

39. From the foregoing, it may, in a way, be perceived that
after a considerable number of concepts in all kinds of combina-
tions is present, every new act of perception must work as an
excitant by which some will be arrested, others called forward
and strengthened, progressing series interrupted or set again in
motion, and this or that mental state occasioned. These mani-
festations must become more complex if, as is usual, the con-
cept received by the new act of perception contains in itself a
multiplicity or variety, that at the same time enables it to hold
its place in several combinations and series, and gives them a
fresh impulse which brings them into new relations of opposi-

‘tion or blending with one another. By this, the concepts
brought by the new act of perception are assimilated. to the
older concepts in such a way as to suffer somewhat after the
first excitation has worked to the extent of its power, because
the old concepts — on account of their combinations with one
another — are much stronger than the new individuals which
are added.

40. If, however, already very strong complexes and blend-
ings with many members have been formed, then the same rela-

412 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

tion which existed between the old and the new concepts may
be repeated within between the old concepts. Weaker concepts,
which, according to any kind of law, enter into consciousness,
act as excitants upon those masses before mentioned, and are
received and appropriated by them (apperceived) just as in the
case of a new sense-impression; hence the inner perception is
analogous to the outer. Self-consciousness is not the subject of
discussion here, although it is very often combined with the
above.

‘41. In what has been said, lies that which experience con-
firms, viz., that the inner perception is never a passive appre-
hension, but always (even against the will) active. The apper-
ceived concepts do not continue rising or sinking according to
their own laws, but they are interrupted in their movements by
the more powerful masses which drive back whatever is op-
posed to them although it is inclined to rise; and in the case of
that which is similar to them although it is on the point of sink-
ing, they take hold of it and blend it with themselves.

42. It is worth the trouble to indicate how far this difference
among concepts — which we might be inclined to divide into
dead and living — may be carried.

Let us recall the concepts on the statical threshold (16).
These are, indeed, in effect nothing less than dead; for, in the
condition of arrest in which they stand, they are not able by
their own effort to effect anything whatever [toward rising into
consciousness]. Nevertheless, through the combination in
which they stand, they may be reproduced, and, besides, they
will often be driven back in whole heaps and series by those
more powerful masses, as when the leaves of a book are turned’
hurriedly.

43. If the apperceived concepts — or at least some of them
— are not on the statical threshold, then the apperceiving con-
cepts suffer some violence from them; also the latter may be
subject to arrest from another side, in which case the inner per-
ception is interrupted; through this, uncertainty and irresolu-
tion may be explained. '

_ The apperceiving mass may be, in its turn apperceived by

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY 413

another mass; but for this to occur, there must be present
several concept masses of distinctly different degrees of
strength. Hence it is somewhat seldom that the inner percep-
tion rises to this second power [the apperception of appercep-
tion], and only in the case of philosophical ideas is this series
considered as one which might be prolonged into infinity.

CHAPTER VI. A GLANCE OVER THE CONNECTION
BETWEEN BODY AND SOUL

44. UP to the present chapter, concepts have been considered
as present in the soul without any question concerning their
origin or concerning foreign influences. This has been done for
simplicity. Now, sense-perception in part and physiological
influences in part, together with concepts already present, must
be considered.

45. Even from experience it may be assumed that each act
of perception of any considerable strength requires a short
space of time for its creation; but experience and meta-
physics at the same time teach that by delaying longer, the
strength of the perception in no way increases in proportion to
the time, but, the stronger the perception already is, so much the
less does it increase, and from this it follows, by an easy calcula-
tion, that there is a final limit to its strength which the at-
tained concept very soon reaches, and above which even by an
infinite delay the same perception will not be able to rise. This
is the law of diminishing susceptibility, and the strength of the
sense-impression is quite indifferent in regard to this limit. The
weakest sense-perception may give the concept quite as much
strength as the strongest, only it requires for this a somewhat
longer time.

46. Every human concept really consists of infinitely small
elementary apprehensions very unlike one another, which in
the different moments of time during the continuance of the
act of perception were created little by little. However, if dur-
ing the continuance of the perception an arrest caused by old
opposed concepts did not occur, these apprehensions would be

414 JOHANN FRIEDRICH HERBART

all necessarily blended into a single, undivided total force. For
this reason the total force will be perceptibly less than the sum
of all the elementary apprehensions.

47. In early childhood a much larger supply of simple sense-
concepts is generated than in all the following years. Indeed,
the work of the after-years consists in making the greatest
possible number of combinations from this supply. Although
this susceptibility is never entirely extinguished, yet, if there
were not a kind of renewal of it, the age of manhood would be
more indifferent and more unfruitful in sense-impressions than
it really is.

Though concepts on the statical threshold are quite without
influence for that which goes on in consciousness (16), they can
not weaken the susceptibility to new perceptions similar to
themselves. Hence this receptivity would be completely re-
established if the earlier ratio of arrest were not quite changed
by the new acts of perception, and a certain freedom to repro-
duce themselves directly given to the older concepts. (26).
When this happens, the receptivity decreases. The greater the
number of old concepts of the same kind present in conscious-
ness — this means usually the longer one has lived — so much
greater is the number of concepts which upon a given occasion
enter at the same time into consciousness; and thus with years
the renewal of receptivity diminishes.

48. The above statements refer not only to concepts of
exactly the same kind, but to all whose degree of opposition is a
fraction. This can not be developed here, since in the foregoing
nothing exact could be said of the difference between the degrees
of opposition.

49. It is to be especially observed that the influence of the
body upon psychical manifestations is shown in three ways —
its repression (Druck), its excitation (Resonanz), and its co-
operation in action. Upon this are the following preliminary
remarks:

50. Physiological repression arises when the accompanying
conditions, which should correspond to the changes in the soul,
can not follow without hindrance; hence the hindrance will also

A TEXT BOOK IN PSYCHOLOGY 415

be felt as such in the soul because the conditions of each affect
both. This repression is often merely a retarding force, to suit
which the mental movements must proceed more slowly, as is
the case with slow minds that consume time and are stupefied
by quick changes. Often, however, repression is similar to an
arresting force, and as such it can be mathematically calculated,
as when it increases the number of opposed concepts by one or
more. By it all active concepts may be driven to the statical
threshold; and here we have the explanation of sleep. In this
case it would be,a deep and complete sleep.

51. Physiological excitation (Resonanz) arises when the
accompanying bodily conditions change more quickly or
become stronger than would be necessary to merely cause no
hindrance to the mental movements. Then the soul, again in
response to the body, will act more quickly and more vigor-
ously. The soul must also share the resulting relaxations of the
body, as in intoxication and passion.

52. The co-operation of the soul and body in external action
can not originally proceed from the soul, for the will does not
know in the least what influence it really exerts upon the nerves
and muscles. But in the child exists an organic necessity for
movement. At first the soul accompanies this and the active
movements arising from it, with its feelings. The feelings, how-
ever, become connected with perceptions of the members
moved. If, in the result, the concept arising from such a percep-
tion acts as a means of arousing desire (16), then the feeling
connected with it arises, and to this latter as accompanying
bodily condition belong all those phenomena in the nerves and
muscles by which organic movement is actually determined or
defined. Thus it happens that concepts come to appear as a
source of mechanical forces in the outer world.

FRIEDRICH EDUARD BENEKE
(1798-1854)

A TEXTBOOK OF PSYCHOLOGY
AS’ NATURAL SCIENCE

Translated from the German * by
BENJAMIN RAND

CHAPTER I. FUNDAMENTAL PROCESSES OF
PSYCHICAL DEVELOPMENT

§ 22. First fundamental process. Sensations and perceptions
are formed in the human soul in consequence of impressions
or excitations which come to it from without. The usual
view is that we receive the external impressions primarily
through the bodily organs, and only thereafter do they pro-
ceed to the soul by means of the nerves and of the brain. But
of this our self-consciousness, which we have designated (§ 1)
as the only fundamental source for psychological knowledge,
gives no hint whatever. The excitation of the bodily organs
presents itself to us as an effect concomitant with the formation
of the sensory impressions, or as running parallel with it; and
we must regard as a false inference if one endeavors in the man-
ner indicated to place the same in causal connection therewith.
There is no scientific justification (§ 47 ff.) for this assumption as
it is ordinarily made. Furthermore nothing is in the least gained
thereby for the doing away with the offensive dissimilarity be-
tween external objects and the soul. For we are still even as
little able to conceive how a psychical seeing, hearing, etc., can
arise from a material vibration of the nerves, or of the brain, as
how the soul itself can be immediately excited by external im-
pressions into the formations of sensations. Let anatomy and

* From F. E. Beneke’s Lehrbuch der Psychologie als Naturwissenschaft.
Berlin, 1833; bearb. von J. G. Dressler, 4 Aufl. 7b., 1877.

PSYCHOLOGY AS NATURAL SCIENCE 417

physiology, therefore, explain and establish the results of
observation in their domain. In psychology we hold firmly to
the fact that our self-consciousness says nothing about any
such mediation.

§ 23. The creation of sensations and perceptions necessarily
presupposes: (r) certain external elements (excitations, impres-
sions) which are received and appropriated by our soul; and (2)
certain inner forces, or faculties, by which it receives and ap- .
propriates these elements. These forces, which, like the excita-
tions aforesaid, show themselves at the first glance to be mani-
fold, or to form several characteristic systems, we style sensory
faculties, just because they respond to external excitations; and,
furthermore, we call them original faculties (Urvermégen)
of the soul, in so far as we are unable to derive them from any-
thing else. It is to be observed, however, that the sensory
excitations so soon as they are received and appropriated are
transformed likewise into psychical elements. We attribute to
the sensory faculties in respect to this process a higher or
lesser degree of sensitiveness to excitation. By means of this
variable degree the extent of the excitation received, or the
vividness of the sensation, is shown to be conditioned from
within.

§ 24. Second fundamental process. The human soul is con-
stantly acquiring original faculties. Of this innermost life-pro-
cess, by which alone the soul is able to continue its life, we ob-
tain knowledge only from the fact, that from time to time the
original faculties become exhausted. There is in other words an
inability to form sensory perceptions, or to carry on activities,
which demand new and original faculties, and these remain for
a subsequent more or less extended use. As an explanation of
this phenomenon the effect indicated proves to be the most
plausible hypothesis. We cannot, indeed, determine more ex-
actly the nature of this process, not merely because it wholly
escapes consciousness, but also because among all other pro-
cesses of which we are conscious there is none analogous to it.
An indication of the circumstances under which this process
occurs, and occurs more perfectly, we reserve for later consider-

418 FRIEDRICH EDUARD BENEKE

ation (§ 335) on account of this very obscurity, and in order
to make use in fuller measure of the results of observation.

§ 25. The original faculties are essentially volitions so long
and so far as they have not as yet adopted excitation for their
completion; that is to say, they strive for this fulfilment as for
a complement intended for them by their nature. We also
term this striving ‘‘tension.’’ This character appears especially

_in the uneasiness which develops if they have accumulated
unused in rather a large number. This is an uneasiness which as
experience shows can mount to any conceivable degree, and can
lead even to despair of life and to suicide. Moreover, the use of
the original faculties is by no means restricted to the formation
of sensations and perceptions. On thecontrary, attaching them-
selves to inner formations they become effective for the same
excitations and for achievements of the most varied sort. Es-
pecially do they form in this way the fundamental active prin-
ciple in all action as well as in all psychical products.

§ 26. Third fundamental process. The combination of facul-
ties and excitations, such as are originally grounded in sensa-
tions and perceptions, and maintained in their reproductions,
reveals sometimes a firmer and sometimes a less firm inter-
penetration of these two classes of elements. A more accurate
observation now teaches us, that when elements are less firmly
united and therefore mobile, they can be transferred in the
greatest variety of combinations from one psychical formation
to another. In all psychical developments at every moment of
our lives there is an active striving towards a balancing or
equalizing of the mobile elements in them. In a preliminary
way we may give as examples of this fact the increase of in-
tensity, which all the operations of our mind experience through
the emotions of joy, of enthusiasm, of love, of anger, etc.; as
well as upon the other hand, the depressions of the same,
through sorrow, fear, etc. }

§ 27. Our self-consciousness constantly exhibits a change,
which sometimes mounts to an appalling variety and rapidity.
But this change does not extend so far as at first glance it
appears to do, and moreover chiefly effects only the excited

PSYCHOLOGY AS NATURAL SCIENCE 419

state. For every psychical product that thus became formed in
the human soul with any degree of perfection persists, even
after it has disappeared from consciousness or from the sphere
of excited psychical development, in the unconscious or inner
being of the soul, out of which it can later enter into the con-
scious psychical development or be reproduced. We term that
which persists in an unconscious state, with reference to the
psychical development which continues unconsciously to exist,
“‘a trace”; and in reference to those developments which are
either constructed upon this basis, or which proceed therefrom,
“a rudiment.” (There is prefigured or predisposed in the same
a presentation of imagination, a sensation, etc.) Every such
trace consists therefore of two elements: faculty and excitation.

§ 28. We know indeed these traces or rudiments only by
means of the reproductions thereof. Weare, nevertheless, per-
fectly certain of them, because of the fact that these reproduc-
tions, where no hindrance occurs, always take place not only
qualitatively, but also quantitatively, in the strictest agree-
ment with the earlier psychical formations. The kind of the
excitation and the strength of the faculty (the two elements out
of which every trace was formed) return to consciousness in the
same way, as at their coalescence they conditioned the devel-
opment of the trace. In fact, strictly speaking, even this per-
sistence of the trace needs no explanation, since there is repre-
sented in it only the universally evident fact, that what has
once come into existence continues until it is destroyed through
the agency of special causes. What, therefore, is here subject
to explanation is not the continued subsistence, but only the
transition into unconsciousness of what previously had been
conscious; and this is easily comprehended from the aforesaid
process of balancing. Inasmuch as the conscious developments
balance or transfer in every direction, so far as an immediate
combination takes place, those elements which are not firmly
appropriated by them and are mobile, it follows, that such a
depression must take place in them that they become uncon-
scious forms or mere traces (§ 30).

§ 29. In reference to the presentation of these traces, which,

420 FRIEDRICH EDUARD BENEKE

as they are essentially unconscious cannot be made immedi-
ately by means of these themselves, we must hold absolutely to
the effects which have led to their assumption. These traces
hence have no actual place of existence. As is the soul in
general, so also all its parts are nowhere; for self consciousness,
which is our single source of knowledge, contains with itself
immediately, and by itself, (without the addition of perceptions
of the external senses), nothing whatever of spatial relations.
The traces are also united to no bodily organ. For the intuitive
notions of space, and the transformations thereof, which run
parallel to the psychical developments, are in the strictest
sense merely parallel to them, that is to say, synchronous, or at
best always synchronous. They can thus in no wise be made
essential to them, to say nothing of being postulated as their
substantial basis (§ 43 ff.). The trace is what comes between
the production of a psychical activity, (e.g., a sensory percep-
tion), and its reproduction, (e.g., as recollection). Since both of
these acts are psychical we may also conceive of the trace only
in psychical form. We are, nevertheless, in general able to
acquire very definite ideas of it, since the fundamental condi-
tions for this conception are given us in any case on two sides,
and not infrequently, (when there traces are manifoldly repro-
duced), on several sides.

§ 30. Faculties and excitations exist in the traces in the rela-
tively constant combination, which they have entered into with
one another (§ 26). Since nothing can escape from the faculties,
the loss by which the previously conscious or aroused develop-
ments become mere traces, must effect the received excitations;
and so far as this loss occurs, to that extent is the faculty filled
by them again emptied or free. In so far all traces are as such
volitions (Strebungen); that is to say, the original faculties
given in them strive for the recovery of that which they have
lost, or for the renewed attainment of consciousness.

§ 31. The certainty, which we receive by a strict comparison
of facts concerning this inner persistence, is, likewise, in two
respects, invaluable for the perfecting of general psychological
knowledge. First, because we apply them in a progressive

PSYCHOLOGY AS NATURAL SCIENCE 421

direction. Since all previous developments of the soul, so far as
they have not again been destroyed, continue to exist in the
inner being of the soul, it follows, that this must, or (what is the
same thing) the forces or faculties of the soul must, consist of
traces of the earlier aroused developments. We can, therefore,
perceive these faculties not merely from their effects, (which
lead only to a summary or rough determination), but likewise
from their causes too, or from the conscious developments pre-
ceding them. Since now these latter separate in far greater
extension and far more decidedly, (in hundreds of cases and
more), we thus derive by this means for the perception of their
nature and organisation the same advantages as those which
magnifying glasses afford when applied to external nature.
Secondly, we can furthermore turn to account the doctrine of
inner persistence in a retrogressive construction. This matter
has been provisionally discussed (§ 21). If we have clearly re-
cognised in a certain series of developments the manner in which
the traces are formed, we can thus disregard that which is
added to these in our thoughts, and, since we continually repeat
this, can at last attain to a knowledge of the original nature of
the soul.

§ 32. How far this persistence extends in reference to the
quality of the developments, and the length of time, can
scarcely be established with perfect certitude from the fore-
going experiences. We know of the inner persistence only
through the reproductions (§ 28). But from the fact that
something has not heretofore been reproduced, and even now
cannot be reproduced, it does not immediately follow that the
same is not yet present, nor even that it is not capable of repro-
duction. Experiments which have been made in this matter in
violent fevers and injuries, etc., have shown, that what one has
believed to have long disappeared, because it has never been
reproduced under the ordinary conditions of reproduction, was
raised into consciousness and psychical activity under unusual
conditions of production. The presumption, therefore, is great,
that in general whatever has once formed a part with any degree
of completeness of our soul is never again lost.

422 FRIEDRICH EDUARD BENEKE

§ 33. Since the persistence of the traces consists in nothing
except the continuance of whatever has once attained exist-
ence, the perfection in general of the traces must also be
dependent upon the perfection with which the developments
have originally been formed. In the sensations and perceptions,
therefore, it would depend upon the perfection with which the
excitations have been appropriated. We ascribe to the sensory
original faculties in this connection a higher or lower degree of
strength.

§ 34. In the innermost soul traces remain of this transference
of mobile elements from one psychical form to another, and
thereby are established, in the same manner as all permanent
combinations, even the combinations of incompatible forma-
tions into groups and series: the combinations between the qual-
ities of a thing, between the spatial and temporal coincidence,
and the connection between causes and effects. These are, there-
fore, by no means to be regarded merely as ideal relations, but
to be viewed, just as much as the single presentation, as some
real abiding existence in the inner being of the soul.

§ 35. Fourth fundamental process. Identical formations of
the human soul, and similar ones according to the measure of
their likeness, attract one another, or strive to enter into closer
relations with each other. This presents itself to our observa-
tion so frequently, not merely in its products but also in its
occurrence, that it needs no further explanation. Familiar
examples are such as, the witty combination of ideas, the forma-
tion of similies and judgments, the fusion of similar feelings
and endeavors, etc. If now in these examples the coalescing
formations are only partly similar to one another, this attrac-
tion, as is confirmed in the most evident manner by a stricter
analysis of the facts in various cases, must take place between
formations which are totally similar with still greater strength,
and decisiveness. Nevertheless, the more critical observation
shows that in all these attractions only a coalition of similar
formations, but still no permanent combination or fusion of
them is affected. Rather the process of balancing must enter
in a complementary way for these latter, just as it must enter

PSYCHOLOGY AS NATURAL SCIENCE 423

in permanent combinations between dissimilar formations.
This balancing process reveals itself as active here with most
remarkable strength, so that the blending gains a higher degree
of intimacy, since a specially favorable basis is prepared for it
by the indicated attraction (§ 91).

§ 36. The process of formation is of exceptional importance,
especially for the judgment of quantitative development. If we
- suppose one and the same sensation, presentation, desire, etc.,
to be frequently produced, the traces remaining therefrom
enter not only into relation with one another, but they also
coalesce owing to their complete similarity into one total form-
ation. And such formation appears to us as one to that degree
in which we cannot become at all aware immediately of its com-
plexity (qualitative), but only by means of its augmentation
(quantitative). The strict conception and application of this
will lead us to a number of highly significant conclusions, which
have heretofore escaped the notice of science, because it has
only very inaccurately taken these results into account.

§ 37. All the processes explained in the preceding paragraphs
are of such an elementary character, and of so great universal-
ity, that scarcely one even of the simplest developments of our
matured soul could be pointed out, in which they do not alto-
gether, and even repeatedly, collaborate. But they show them-
selves active in very different relations of combinations and
degree; and thus there is indeed nothing that prevents one
from indicating this or that single fundamental process as the
conditioning cause for this or that effect, when its agency is
particularly conspicuous above the others. A more exact
observation teaches, that these processes can occur with very
various degrees of rapidity and vivacity. And since these
processes, (at least so far as there is no external condition),
manifest themselves uniformly in all developments, which take
place in a human being within the range of a certain funda-
mental system, we are justified in deriving them in so far from
the original faculties, and in attributing to the latter in respect
thereof a higher or lower degree of animation as a pri-
mordial quality.

424 FRIEDRICH EDUARD BENEKE

CHAPTER II. THE FUNDAMENTAL NATURE OF
THE HUMAN SOUL

§ 38. If we summarize first of all the most general character-
istics concerning the nature of the human soul which result
from our preceding exposition, it presents itself to us: (1) as a
perfectly immaterial being (§§ 22 and 29), consisting of certain
fundamental systems, which not only in themselves, but also
in combination with each other, are most intimately one, or
constitute one being (§ 26); (2) as a sensory being, i.e., the ele-
mentary forces of the soul are capable of certain stimulations
from without by excitations, which are assimilated and retained
by these forces (§ 22 f.). To these must still be added: (3) the
forces of the soul gain by this assimilation a more positive
organisation, and in this they enter upon manifold closer com-
binations with one another, partly by means of the fusion of
similar forms into one total form (§ 35 f.), and partly by means
of the combination of dissimilar forms into groups and series
(§34). (4) But the forces and faculties of the soul have also an
original determinateness, which is twofold: the original de-
terminateness of the fundamental systems to which they be-
long, and the original determinateness of certain degrees of
strength (§ 33), and vivacity (§ 37), and sensitiveness of
stimulus (§ 23). Observation teaches us that every degree
of any one of these fundamental conditions can occur together
With any degree of the others.

§ 39. For a more exact determinateness we must compare
human souls with the souls of lower animals. If we compare
that which appears in the latter as the effect of the psychical,
with that immediately perceived in us and the effects thereof,
the most striking characteristic of human souls appears to be,
that they are spiritual, (that is to say, if for the present we
formulate this superiority in its greatest universality and as it
immediately appears), —souls, which are capable of a clearer,
more definite, and more comprehensive consciousness, and
which necessarily develop such consciousness up to a certain
point of time, although some in greater, others in lesser perfec-

PSYCHOLOGY AS NATURAL SCIENCE 425

tion. The question now arises, what we have to regard as that
which fundamentally conditions this superiority.

§ 40. We here first encounter a view which was especially in
the last century, and even in our time has been again, pro-
pounded. According to it, the original forces of human souls are
said to be in and of themselves entirely similar to:those of the
lower animals, and the spiritual character of the human soul is
derived solely from the more excellent bodily organisation with
which this is united. In support of this view three things have
been especially emphasized: first, the possession of hands by
which man is enabled to change the position and form of ob-
jects, and thus become acquainted with an incomparably
greater number of these qualities; secondly, the possession of
speech, which makes possible a manifold expression of acquired
ideas, etc., as well as a more extended and more perfect reten-
tion of them; and, thirdly, the slower growth owing to a longer
period of childhood, in consequence of which there is a more
varied accumulation and elaboration of ideas.

§ 41. The reasons specified in the preceding paragraph con-
cerning the spiritual character of the human soul in no wise give
a perfectly satisfactory explanation. From the greater mass of
heterogeneous ideas which are acquired through the medium
of the hands and speech, there would result in and for itself
only a greater throng of them, and as a consequence rather a
more rapid and more complete obliteration of the single idea.
It is just as difficult to perceive from the slower growth of the
body how it should transform the unspiritual into something
spiritual without the addition of another positive factor.
We have on the contrary to regard the slower formations of
the body not as a cause, but as a consequence of spiritual devel-
opment, which constantly exerts a certain modification upon
the bodily development. The higher perfection of the human
soul, therefore, cannot be in such wise merely externally condi-
tioned, but must be a perfection that is internally and qualita-
tively conditioned, and which affects the innermost nature of
the psychical original faculties themselves.

§ 42. Of the three fundamental characteristics of the original

426 FRIEDRICH EDUARD BENEKE

faculties as designated (§ 38), the susceptibility of excitation
occurs not merely in many of the lower animals in like perfec-
tion with man, but also in case of some of them in greater per-
fection than in man. Vivacity occurs with men as with the
lower animals in very many degrees. But what is peculiar and
essential to human souls is a higher power of susceptibility and
of appropriation of the excitation, as well as a greater force of
inner persistence of the developments founded thereupon.
By means of this more perfect inner persistence, there is made
possible in the psychical developments of men an infinite in-
crease of strength, of clearness, and of capacity of coalescence.
In combination therewith, but also only in combination there-
with, the hands, the speech, and the longer period of childhood
are, to be sure, of no little significance for the development of
the human soul. We can best designate this superiority of man
over the lower animals by ascribing to the former a spiritual
sensuousness. Besides the superiority of the higher energy of
the original faculties there is another in which the possession of
speech and hands are ranked only as single constituents. This
is the more individual and more definite determinateness, and
in consequence of that, the more definite separation of the
different elementary systems, both as to the qualities of the
several susceptibilities and activities, and as to the combi-
nations and interweavings.

CHAPTER III. THE RELATION OF THE SOUL
AND THE BODY

§ 43. THERE is still need of a more exact determination con-
cerning the relation of the soul to the body. We have already
remarked (§ 1), that these are very definitely separated in the
perception (Auffassung), and the knowledge based thereupon;
since to the knowledge of the soul everything belongs that we
perceive by means of self-consciousness, and to the knowledge
of the body everything by means of the external senses. We
must leave to metaphysics the deeper determination of their
real relation. We have here only to do with the question,

PSYCHOLOGY AS NATURAL SCIENCE 427

how they must stand to one another for the purposes of psy-
chology.

§ 44. Transferring the contrary kinds of knowledge men-
tioned in the foregoing paragraphs to the real, without due
consideration those who have set as their task a strictly philo-
sophical knowledge, in most cases have represented the soul
and the body as being in their innermost nature opposed to one
another. And from this the most remarkable hypotheses have
been evolved; since upon the other hand the experience of every
moment presents their immediate union in one and the same
being, and also their immediate interaction and co-operation.

§ 45. When on the contrary there was set as a task no deeper
philosophical knowledge, but there was in mind only the prac-
tical application, which a synthesis of both rendered desir-
able for a common knowledge, it has been attempted in most
cases to refer the psychical developments to the bodily; indeed,
some have gone so far as quite generally to designate the former
as mere products of the bodily organization peculiar to man.
This is the fundamental view of materialism. But the history of
psychology shows, that never at any time has it been possible,
either to explain or to construct from the material the very
least of the developments of the soul. And not only so, but it _
can also admit of no doubt, that this will be just as little pos-
sible in the entire future. Both kind of ideas are much too dis-
similar for this. In whatever way we may determine and
combine the material forms and processes, we never attain to
anything that has even the remotest resemblance to a thought,
or to any other psychical product.

§ 46. What has given rise to the materialistic view indicated
in the preceding paragraph is only the greater distinctness and
definiteness, which the presentations of the bodily have over
those of the psychical for those unused to self-examination.
But this advantage is nevertheless purely subjectively
grounded (in the nature of the presentation) ; and the transfer-
ence of it to the objective, or real, can be in no wise justified.
And as a subjective advantage it is to be regarded not even as
essentially necessary, but only as accidental and temporary;

428 FRIEDRICH EDUARD BENEKE

since in a practice continued for some time and intelligently
conducted, an equally great, indeed a still greater, clearness
and definiteness can be gained for the perception of psychical
products and results.

§ 47. To this must be added, that we are able to observe
(§ 13) the developments of our soul far more immediately and
more intimately. This, in connection with what has been
remarked in the preceding paragraph, enables us to develop the
knowledge of the psychical forms and processes to such great
definiteness, exactness, and acuteness, that the knowledge of
the bodily stands far in the background. Indeed, we can foresee
with the highest probability, that a completeness of under-
standing and construction for the bodily, such as we already
have for the psychical, can never be gained (granted the
highest possible perfection of magnifying glasses, etc.) even
approximately. Even regardless of reasons of inner truth, it
appears from the standpoint of the products of knowledge it-
self as far more desirable, that, in direct opposition to the
materialistic view, we should be able to conceive and to
construct the bodily according to the forms and the laws of
the psychical.

§ 48. The problem which presents itself (§ 44) in the appar-
ently opposed fundamental natures of the soul and body can be
solved after deeper reflection (Aufassung) very simply, in that,
we also perceive our own body, as everything else corporeal,
only by means of the impressions upon our senses, and, there-
fore, not immediately as in the case of the soul, where the
powers and developments are apprehended as they are in them-
selves. But there correspond certain forces to the perceptions
of our own body as its being (in itself), which as they effect those
sensory perceptions, permit still many other results to proceed
from themselves. And the opposition in our observations of the
two kinds of developments can arise just as well from the differ-
ence in the faculties of perception, as from the difference of the
perceived objects and events. That this difference is not so
great as it appears is already in the highest degree probable,
even (we can truly say) certain, from the fact, that there exists

PSYCHOLOGY AS NATURAL SCIENCE 429

no kind of bodily developments which cannot become con-
scious under certain circumstances, and which as conscious can-
not be immediately perceived by us. But in that event it be-
comes psychical (§§ 1 and 43); as it stands also in fact in this
case to the positively psychical developments entirely in the
same relations of reciprocal aid, of combination, and of opposi-
tion, as the psychical developments stand to one another.
Such a transformation of a thing most ordinarily to be con-
ceived as non-psychical into one to be conceived as psychical,
would be unthinkable, if in their fundamental nature they
were opposed.

On the contrary we are led to conclude that both kinds of
forces must stand very close to one another in their innermost
nature; and no artificial hypotheses (§ 44) are necessary for the
explanation of their intimate relationship and reciprocal action.
What through the senses we learn of the human body, or what
we commonly term the body, we have to view only as external
signs or representatives of the innermost nature of the body,
which, like the soul, consists of certain forces and their develop-
ments, that are indeed distinct from those of the soul, but are
nevertheless essentially of the same kind.

§ 49. On the other hand, it must be added, that the different
fundamental systems of the soul also do not develop con-
sciousness in equal perfection, but rather in very significant
gradations. And they show the gradations in all relations
parallel, as we observe between the positively psychical
developments and the bodily developments raised to the
psychical. Thus the difference between the soul and the
body stands forth still more definitely than a mere difference
of degree. They even approach so near to one another that no
real line of separation can be drawn between them in the living
man, and in general they are not farther separated than the dif-
ferent psychical fundamental systems from one another. A
real separation between soul and body takes place first only at
death.

§ so. In any event weare justified according to the conclu-
sions reached, to include the bodily, so far as it develops

430 FRIEDRICH EDUARD BENEKE

consciousness, in our science, and to make the attempt to dis-
cover whether its developments, and especially its action upon
the soul, may not be construed according to the laws, which
have come to light for the positive psychical developments from
the facts observed by our self-consciousness. It furthermore
immediately appears from this, that we have throughout to
suppose no other bond for the connection of soul and body, than
that by which the psychical systems themselves are united.

§ 51. Even the most general survey of the bodily develop-
ments permits no doubt concerning the fact, that the four fund-
amental laws which have been established for the psychical,
likewise have their application as determining and regulating
the bodily, though to be sure with some modifications. The
bodily forces also need support from without, and they strive
after and appropriate it; and in them, too, life is propagated
from within by means of continual acquisition of new homo-
geneous faculties or forces. In them also, received stimuli are
balanced with reference to the formations which stand in rela-
tion therewith; and the developments deprived in this way of
excitation continue to exist in the forms of traces or forces,.
which thereafter enter as rudiments into future developments.
Finally, in them too, a reciprocal attraction between homo-
geneous developments manifests itself. They enter into closer
relation, or even totally fuse with each other. As a result of all
this there is formed that which one terms (favorably or unfav-
orably etc.) the bodily constitution. What is lacking to the
bodily developments in all these relations, is only a more inde-
pendent development of elementary acts and forces, which
distinguish psychical development (§ 42). They coalesce too
with less regard to distinctions; and the forms of organisation
have therefore no such definite determination (§ 47).

§ 52. It is thus obvious, that the recognised fundamental
laws prove effective for the interaction between soul and body,
and the rudiments remaining from these. Here only the adjust-
ment of the mobile elements and the attraction of the homo-
geneous formations come into consideration. By means of the
former all transferences and influences which proceed from the

PSYCHOLOGY AS NATURAL SCIENCE 431

soul to the body, or from the body to the soul, are determined:
especially in the first direction every bodily doing or action
produced by the soul, as well as the involuntary manifestations
of the emotions, etc.; and in the second direction the manifold
aids which the psychical development experiences from the
bodily, and by means of which the soul as it were constantly
feeds upon the bodily. The attraction in relation to those things
homogeneous, shows itself operative especially in the distribu-
tion of the tones from the one to the other, and in the associa-
tions between similarly toned psychical and bodily develop-
ments. Moreover, these are operative in various forms, e.g., in
passions and other emotions, for the production of balancings
among the corresponding bodily developments, when psychical
developments meet, which by their firmer forms of organiza-
tion, or otherwise, are prevented from balancing. Thus blushing
accompanies shame and anger, etc.; tears of emotion accom-
pany the unexpected proofs of love, and deserved but long with-
held marks of distinction, etc. From all this it follows, that we
have to conceive the bodily life as subordinated to the psychi-
cal; whereas materialism affirms that the life of the soul is only
an intensified bodily; and that as an independent existence in
man there is no soul.

MORITZ WILHELM DROBISCH
(1802-1896)

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY ACCORDING TO
THE METHODS OF NATURAL SCIENCE

Translated from the German* by
BENJAMIN RAND

FIFTH SECTION: THE FUNDAMENTAL EX-
PEANATION OF “THE .PSYCHICAL LIE

III. THE DYNAMICS OF IDEAS AS A PRINCIPLE
OF EXPLANATION OF PSYCHICAL PHENOMENA

§ 138. THE INTERDEPENDENCE OF PSYCHICAL
PHENOMENA

In the explanation of psychical phenomena it is most neces-
sary, that their connection and interdependence be not ne-
glected in the consideration of their diversity, because other-
wise we should set up unavoidable hindrances to any theory
seeking for unity. Of this character is particularly the assimp-
tion of an original two- or threefold division of the activity of
the mind, which is supposed to rest upon the qualitative differ-
ence of inner phenomena. After the detailed examination of
the latter we should still find impossible to place in one and the
same category as regards their origin, ideas, feelings, and de-
sires; on the contrary, we must rather regard the lack of inde-
pendence, and even actual dependence of the forms of the latter
two kinds of phenomena upon the ideas, as an indication that
these in some way lie at their foundation, and that they are
capable of being made comprehensible as derived states. In-

* From M. W. Drobisch’s Empirische Psychologie nach naturwissenschafticher
Methode, Hamburg und Leipzig, 1842; 2te Aufl. 1898.

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY 433

deed, so many earlier psychologists have sought to prove this,
that we may say the atomistic trichotomy of the soul was first
introduced by Kant and his school.

If now the uselessness of abstract powers of the mind has been
made clear in what has preceded, no one can desire to revert,
either to a general faculty of ideas, or to any specific kinds of
it, under the names of sense, imagination, understanding, etc.
On the contrary, the ever increasing specialisation of these fac-
ulties, which becomes necessary if one somewhat more than
superficially considers inner experience, shows that we cannot
pursue this method with success, but have to take one directly
opposed. This consists in supposing each single idea itself as an
independent state of the mind, and accordingly an indefinitely
large number of such states. If now to each one of these a
power is ascribed as cause, we thus acquire, to be sure, instead
of a moderate number of faculties of the mind, an almost un-
limited number of individual powers of the mind. We do not
fail to perceive that we are thereby still further, and in a far
more hazardous way, removed from the unity of the soul,than
is the case with the theory of faculties. But if we do not suc-
ceed in comprehending the unity of ten or twenty faculties, the
failure consequently is essentially not greater if a thousand or
ten thousand powers of forming ideas appear hard to combine.
Nevertheless this would only be a lamentable consolation, ;
which we are far from claiming. Therefore, either we must seek
so to justify that hypothesis, that it no longer controverts the
unity of the soul, or this principle is not adequately estab-
lished, and must be given up. Let us then first test somewhat
more closely this demand for the unity of the soul, as the pos-
sessor of the powers of the mind.

§ 139. THE UNITY OF THE SOUL

If it must be conceded that the powers of the mind, as causes
of its states, are not objects of inner observation, it holds still
more true of the mind itself, as the possessor of those powers.
For self-consciousness by no means reveals to us the mind, on

434 MORITZ WILHELM DROBISCH

the contrary, shows only the empirical I, from which through
abstraction of its changing content the pure I is first at-
tained; but which, for that very reason, is an empty and really
formal idea. The identity of our psychical being is, therefore,
by no means immediately guaranteed as a fact by the identity
of our self-consciousness, and it is merely upon inferences that
this conviction is based. Without deeper metaphysical argu-
mentation the following observations can be made upon this
subject.

All our ideas have a tendency to become united, to exchange
their multiplicity for unity, and they actually coalesce, so far as
the contradictions of their contents do not prevent. Our sensu-
ous perception, as well as our intellectual conception, is a con-
stant process of unification, either through the percept, or the
concept; therefore, every theoretical science involves the effort
to reduce the principles of explanation to the lowest possible
number. The fact, that onlya few ideas can enter our conscious-
ness at once, shows to be sure at first glance, that they displace,
suppress, therefore, as it were, expel one another; but also on
the other hand, that they are not able to avoid one another, but
are held together by an attractive force. The same thing like-
wise appears in associations, these quite involuntary and art-
less combinations of simultaneous ideas. It is, therefore, pos-
sible to attribute similar attractive and repellant forces to ideas,
after the analogy of the physical-chemical hypothesis of attrac-
tions and repulsions of elements. But leaving out of considera-
tion the fact, that here attraction and repulsion must be ascribed
simultaneously to the same elements of psychical life, which
beyond controversy is inconceivable (the physicist attributes
attraction to the molecules, and transfers repulsion to the sur-
rounding sphere of heat), there is furthermore this difference,
that the elements of bodies have an independent existence, so
that the existence of the body depends upon that of its ele-
ments, which become thereby the constituents out of which it
is composed.

Nevertheless, it will not occur to anyone to affirm that the
mind is composed of its ideas, and that these have also

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY 435

existence apart from the mind. The mind, in which they are,
and because they are in it, which has no constituents (for what
apart from ideas, could otherwise be its constituents?), and is
consequently simple, must moreover itself be assumed to be
the principle of unity. This also leads to the same conclusion,
that the body is external to the mind, but ideas, feelings, and
desires, are within it. The mind is, therefore, in a middle
ground between outer and inner experience, as the unit of mea-
sure — belonging to no experience — of things and states of
the external and internal world. With a measure one can in-
deed measure; but one cannot wish to measure it itself, or it
ceases to be a measure. One can indeed distinguish the parts in
it; but these are only accidental parts, and not essential con-
stituents.

§ 140. THE REFUTATION OF THE FACULTY
CONCEPT

If accordingly the hypothesis of the unity of the soul appear
to us reasonably established, so that we have to think of it as
having strict simplicity of being, because otherwise a new prin-
ciple of unification would be needed, the question is all the
more seriously renewed, how the other hypothesis of an un-
limited number of states of the mind is supposed to be com-
patible with it. There corresponds to every individual sensa-
tion a simple idea as a state of the mind, and combined ideas
originate from these as their elements. Shall we endow the
mind with as many faculties as it has simple ideas? And if not,
what else shall we do? In order to decide this question, it is ne-
cessary first to determine, what must be understood by facul-
ties. If we oppose activity to it, as reality to possibility, the
entire concept of faculty is at bottom an empty thought, which
can signify nothing other, than that after an activity has origin-
ated we can then add in thought, that nevertheless the possi-
bility must have been present for it beforehand. But this possi-
bilty is also only a mode of forming ideas in the mind of the
thinker, and is nothing in the things themselves; for we should

436 MORITZ WILHELM DROBISCH

thereby conceive an actual possibility, which is a gross ab-
surdity.

In this merely logical sense we will not want to have the con-
cept of possibility taken, but we seek to express thereby, that
an activity is existent in the germ (potentia), and only awaits
the opportunity to develop into actuality (actu). We cannot,
indéed, strictly mean thereby, that the activity is retained
wholly as it afterwards manifests itself, only in a concentrated
undeveloped condition in the mind, so that, therefore, e.g., the
sensuous ideas before they appear in consciousness through
stimulation of the senses, dwell in the mind in the same way as
they abide in the recesses of the memory, after they have be-
come forgotten. This would make every excitation of ideas
from without a mere appearance, and would therefore be a
view compatible only with the most thoroughgoing idealism.
This israther what we mean, that, just as the seed-corn, in order
to germinate and develop, requires earth, air, moisture, and
warmth, but nevertheless these potencies can still bring into
development only a seed-corn, but by no means a stone, or even
a blossom; so likewise a diversified capacity for forming ideas,
is to be understood as belonging to the mind, by virtue of which,
if certain external conditions are associated therewith, an
actual formation of ideas take place in it.

If we would discuss this concept metaphysically we should
put the question, whether the multiplicity of capacities har-
monises better with the demanded unity of the soul, than a
multiplicity of actual powers; or whether the soul, if it origin-
ally carries in itself as the mode of its existence such a multi-
plicity of capacities, would be strictly regarded anything more
than a system of the same, therefore, a compound, and what
then must be deemed the significance of these capacities apart
from this compound? But this may be left out of the present
discussion.

Possibly one might think of seeking aid through the analogy
of physics, by saying that the activity is still united to the
capacity, latent, and becomes free through development under
the codperation of external conditions. To this suggestion we

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY 437

should oppose the observation, that latent heat or electricity
presupposes the free; that this latteris the first and original, the
former only the secondary and derived condition. Latent activ-
ities of the mind may therefore indeed be termed ideas stored
in memory beyond consciousness; but the ideas originating
according to common conviction through sensory impressions
if, as becoming free, they are to be viewed as previously bound,
would have to be taken as platonic remembrances out of a pre-
vious existence, and their sensuous origin would have to be a
vain delusion. To prove this latter has up to now been impos-
sible for any scepticism, or any idealism.

§141. IDEAS AS STATES AND NOT POWERS
OF THE MIND

According to the foregoing every return to faculties, or power
of forming ideas, in whatever way we may conceive these, ap-
pears to lead to no acceptable result. We must, therefore, at-
tempt to obtain another point of view of ideas, which without
being content to regard them as mere inner phenomena, ex-
plains both their existence, and promises to make conceivable,
as coming from them, feelings and desires. In this attempt the
comparison with physical science affords us the safest guidance.
If the physicist says that this body possesses the capacity to be-
come more heated, luminous, electrical, magnetic, to resound, to
enter into many chemical combinations, etc., he does not mean
by that, that the body possesses certain faculties or dormant
powers, which under certain conditions can awaken and produce
those phenomena, but he signifies thereby only certain disposi-
tions or qualities of the body, whether these may have their
location in the bulk of its matter, in its mechanical composi-
tion, orin the relation of the quality of its matter to that of some
other body. If we here speak of a force as the cause of such
a physical condition of a body, it is not transferred to this, but
is established outside of it, and the body appears only as a thing
which is placed in a certain condition, to which we do not on that
account ascribe peculiar powers; or would we attribute to a

438 MORITZ WILHELM DROBISCH

heavy body a power to fall, to the resonant a power to sound?
How far even the older physics was from any such theory as
this, its hypothesis of a force of inertia shows. It did not
attribute to a mobile body a power of movement, but a power
to resist movement. The new physics, on the other hand, dis-
cards both, and views rest and motion as states which are alike
accidental to the bodies, but if they are placed in them, they
continue unchanged until a removal or modification of the same
ensues. The thought of the capacity of bodies for these states
drops entirely as idle and unfruitful.

To heed this example of physics might now be by far the
most profitable method for psychology. It has been already
remarked above, that in our immediate consciousness the form-
ing of ideas appears neither as an actuality, nor a capacity of the
mind, but only as a happening in it. Accordingly, in harmony

with experience, we will designate the ideas as states of the
mind, and can affirm at least of the sensuous ideas, which form
the basis of all others, that the mind is placed in these states by
means of external causes through the agency of the organs of
sense, which, like the produced motion of a body, continues un-
changed so long as they are not removed or modified by addi-
tional inner or outer causes. We consequently lay claim to the
principle of permanence (the law of inertia) for these states,
and regard the mind as existence in itself, barren of ideas, and
accordingly also of feelings and desires, which, on account of its
simplicity, can attain to those states only through the manifold
relations of its quality to the qualities of the things with which
it stands in relation, — comparable to chemical affinity.

The nature and mode in which external things affect the
mind, the conditions of the production of any idea, remain
partly physiological and partly metaphysical problems. But
since it is assumed, that the manifoldness of the relations of the
individual mind to the external causes of its simple ideas cre-
ates likewise a manifold constitution in the latter, the question
how the unity of the mind is consistent with the multiplicity of
its inner happenings has at least in general no more difficulties.
One and the same number can enter into infinitely numerous

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY 439

relations, and the exponent of the relations is in every case a
different one. With such exponents the ideas may be compared;
and with the common fundamental unit (the first member) of
them, the mind itself may be compared. But if one desires
more than comparisons, one has then to do with metaphysics,
which has to discuss this question in the systematic: relation of
concepts. For the immediate purpose it suffices to observe that
the formation of ideas must be conceived not from the point of
view of a manifestation of power of the mind, but asa state of
the same, or as a happening befalling it. The ideas must not be
compared with powers, but with movements of the mind; and
if a sensuous image is desired, they can best be compared with
the oscillations of a body, otherwise externally at rest.

§ 142. THE FREEDOM AND INHIBITION OF IDEAS

The facts of the changing attention and of the disappearance
of ideas from consciousness, as well as their reappearance in
it, reveal clearly, that ideas although themselves only states of
the mind, nevertheless are capable of having in their turn dif-
ferent states of their own. These are the states of freedom and
of inhibition of ideas. Anidea will then be free, if simultaneously
there be represented no others of opposite quality, but only of a
like or dissimilar constitution. But if opposed ideas occur sim-
ultaneously, a diminution of that freedom takes place, which
can be termed inhibition. For as experience adequately shows,
ideas do not mutually suppress one another, not even when
some of them become forgotten — for they can be again
aroused under certain conditions — but they are merely
brought into a state in which they cease wholly or in a certain
degree to be ideas; but for all that are neither destroyed, nor
suffer a diminution of their being, which rather assumes only
another form. This is the form of striving.

In the same degree namely, in which vividness or the con-
scious clearness of an idea diminishes, in that degree a resist-
ance to this violent state and a striving to free itself there-
from arises in it. Under such circumstances the idea certainly

440 MORITZ WILHELM DROBISCH

becomes a force, but one which is directed against a definite
hindrance obstructing its freedom. It ceases at once to be a
force so soon as that hindrance disappears, and it has attained
again its natural uninhibited state. In this striving is found the
principle for the explanation of desire; it would, however, be
rash if one were to affirm this striving to be in general the desire
itself. For manifestly no idea could disappear from conscious-
ness, unless its return were desired; and all ideas, which we any
time have had and have long since forgotten, would have to
be desired, and consequently press for return into conscious-
ness. Of this, however, we do not observe the least, and we are
not even aware of any such pressure on the part of the ideas,
from which our attention is momentarily diverted. A conscious
and an unconscious striving must therefore be distinguished,
and the conditions of this distinction must be investigated.

§ 143. THE INHIBITION OF OPPOSING IDEAS

In fact our inhibited striving is to be conceived as at one
time united with the feeling of pressure, and as at another time
without any such feeling. This indicates an essential difference
in the inhibition, according as this occurs before or after the
complete balancing of the opposing striving of ideas. The
former is combined with a feeling of obstruction, the latter is
free therefrom, and can be termed an equilibrium of ideas,
which takes place within or without consciousness, according as
the balanced ideas are in part only, or wholly inhibited. Ideas
which are not yet in equilibrium will possess a striving after it;
for only the balanced condition can have a point of rest, and the
inhibition connected with it will be that which under the given
circumstances imposes upon the ideas the least proportionate
pressure. More precise determinations of this state, the condi-
tions of equilibrium of ideas, cannot be developed without the
aid of mathematics. Ideas in equilibrium are united in general
neither with feelings nor with desires; but both accompany the
still unbalanced ideas. Feelings and desires as distinct from
ideas are inconceivable. They lack a definite representable

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY 441

what, a quale; nevertheless they are actually in consciousness.
They must, therefore, be found in it as the manifold changeable
how of presentation. Wherein now does this consist, and how
do they differ from one another? By what means do I know of
my desires? Do I perceive an act of desire immediately? Not at
all, I certainly feel only the state of desire, but still distinguish
therefrom the feeling which accompanies it. The desire destroys
the calm, the equilibrium of the mind, or to speak more cor-
rectly, the equilibrium of its ideas. If I have a feeling of this
equilibrium, a change in it will be a feeling of disturbance. The
feeling of psychical equilibrium is precisely similar to that of
bodily health. Of both there exists no positive feeling. The
body as well as the mind is in a state of equilibrium when one
has no feeling of its activities, just as a machine in which there
is the least possible friction makes but little noise. Desires and
feelings are, therefore, the indices of the deviation from the
state of equilibrium of ideas.

It is to be remembered if we wish to comprehend their differ-
ence, that desires are the activity, feelings the passivity of the
mind. Now desire is the striving of that idea, whose content is
desired, against obstructions, which have their ground it is true
outside of the mind, but nevertheless must be felt by it, since
otherwise the striving idea, which always abides in the mind,
would find no obstruction. Obstructions are, therefore, at least
in the broadest sense of the term, themselves ideas. But whilst
the hindrances obstruct, they react against the striving idea, and

thereby become unpleasant. This latter idea presses and is
pressed; in itis the seat of desire; in its obstructions is the seat
of the unpleasant feeling of resistance united therewith. The
overcoming striving of an idea against such obstructions is
therefore the desire of its content; and the succumbing resist-
ance of what is opposed is therefore the painful feeling, which
is constantly united with the postponement of the attainment
of what is desired. The former is the striving, the latter is the
suffering of the one desiring. The desire is, therefore, not felt
only in the idea of the desired thing, also not alone in that
which resists it, but in both at the same time, and in their rela-

442 MORITZ WILHELM DROBISCH

tion, which is none other than the disturbance of the preceding
equilibrium. But the striving idea, however, does not itself
alone possess the power for this disturbance, but gains it only
through union with an internal or external perception related to
it, which reproduces and lifts above the point of equilibrium,
and which therefore appears as the external cause of the origin,
or the reawakening of desire. The desire appears herewith as a
progressing or retrogressing movement of ideas; if we regard
the maximum of their clearness as the goal or culminating
point. But the mind itself is thereby immediately neither
active, nor passive. It is both, only mediately, in so far, that is
to say as its ideas are found in these states.

§ 144. THE ORIGIN OF FEELINGS AND DESIRES

This is the first, and, to be sure, only a very meagre outline
of the origin of feelings and desires, of which a further and more
exhaustive explanation would demand a more exact and more
varied development of the explanatory principle postulated as
its basis, than is here possible and consistent with the desired
aim. Nevertheless, it is at least possible to add the following
corollaries.

(1) Just as the idea striving against abstractions causes
desire, the idea retreating reluctantly from consciousness
causes repugnance. For manifestly the content represented in
it is the object of repugnance, but the energy of the repugnance
is contained in the ideas opposed to this idea, which repel and
gradually suppress it; the stronger the resistance of the reced-
ing idea, so much the stronger is the emotion of abhorrence.

(2) Feelings of oppression can also arise without desire and
abhorrence, that is to say, without a progressive or retrogres-
sive movement of ideas. For granted an idea is in itself too
weak to continue in consciousness when opposed by many
stronger ones, and thus to be in equilibrium with them, it can
nevertheless happen by the following means, that it is asso-
ciated with an idea of a dissimilar content, which affords the
support demanded for equilibrium with the others. The

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY 443

memory-image of the room which I occupied many years ago
as a schoolboy is itself not capable of continuing beside the
intuitions of the present; but if by a related perception the
damp, musty smell is reproduced, which at that time made its
occupancy not the most agreeable, then the image emerges
with full vividness and continues in my consciousness. But
nevertheless, any such recollection always demands a certain
effort, and this consists in the fact that the retained idea is in a
pressed position between the opposed ideas seeking to sup-
plant it, and those dissimilar which afford to it the necessary
support. Hence arises a feeling of oppression.

(3) An idea, finally, can also arise notwithstanding opposing
hindrances, that is to say, when this rising occurs under the
protection of a stronger idea entirely homogeneous with it,
which removes the obstacles in its way, and thereby makes for
it a free path. Then the obstacles disappear as if dispelled by
magic, like the impotent spectres of the night before the light
of day. Under suchcircumstances the rising idea possesses more
elasticity than it can expend, and the character of its move-
ment creates a feeling of pleasure.

With these corollaries we must here be content, for the condi-
tions under which the feelings of the good and the beautiful
arise, lie too deep to permit of being here developed with any
clearness.

§ 145. THE EQUILIBRIUM AND MOVEMENT OF
IDEAS

The concepts of freedom and inhibition, of equilibrium and
movements, of striving and resistance of ideas, developed with
the sharpest lines of differentiation, must henceforth, solely and
alone, take the place of the theory of the abstract faculties of
ideas, feeling, and desire, as explanatory principles. But they
serve, moreover, to supplant the more special faculties sub-
ordinated to these in a manner more conformable to experi-
ence. Our entire analysis of psychical phenomena must have
demonstrated, that association and reproduction are the keys

444 MORITZ WILHELM DROBISCH

which open the portals of the inner life of the soul. But the
principles themselves henceforth can be proved ‘to be derived
from others lying deeper. For association is the result of the
unity of the soul, by means of which all the states of the latter,
so far as their contrasts admit it, unite and enter combinations
under all circumstances. But reproduction rests in part imme-
diately upon associations, and in part upon the conceptsof free-
dom and inhibition of ideas.

In general the apparent manifestation of the faculties of the
mind rests upon combinations, aggregations of ideas in the
large, which we can style with Herbart masses of ideas (Vors-
tellungsmassen), which developed with more or less regularity
are interwoven out of series, and series of series; and move-
ments and transformations of these masses of ideas appear in
place of the activity of the faculties. The individual faculties
are distinguished in part formally by the different kind of the
formation of the masses in which they have their location; and
in part materially by the kind of ideas which make up the mate-
rial of the mass. By means of the latter we can understand the
so frequently occurring partiality of memory, of imagination,
and of the understanding.

Memory, therefore, we may ascribe to our mind in so far as it
possesses ideas, which still bear the characteristics of their first
origin, and which return to consciousness, out of which they
have been crowded by others, according to the same temporal
order as that in which they originated, in that train of recol-
lected thought which is conformable to the laws of memory.

Imagination we can ascribe to our mind in so far as it pos-
sesses ideas, in which the characteristics of their first sensuous
origin are obliterated, which therefore no longer occupy a
definite place among other after images of former perceptions,
and are no longer reproduced in the temporal sequence of the
same. But the most manifold combinations are entered upon,
according to all the laws of association, which enable it to
perform even as manifold reproductions, and to give them that
easy mobility, by which the making of more and more numer-
ous combinations of surpassing novelty is rendered possible.

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY 445

Understanding belongs to our mind in so far as there exists
in it masses of ideas whose combinations, independent of all
accidental circumstances of their encounter, are completely
adapted to the nature of their content, and therefore corre-
spond to the relations of things; it may be, that, as in theoretical
understanding, this content is sharply separated in conceptual
definitions, or, asin the practical understanding, is rightly recog-
nised only in relation to the content of another idea.

Our mind possesses wz//, in so far as it has masses of ideas,
whose content represent what is willed, and whose striving
exercises a decisive control over other ideas and combinations
of ideas.

The mind is rational, if the moral insight has become the
kernel and centre of the mass-of-ideas ruling all others. But
man as a natural creature is called rational in so far as adapta-
tions have been made in his physical organisation, which makes
possible the development of moral insight, and the attainment
of it to power, but do not prevent it as in the case of the lower
animals.

Finally with momentary perceptions the mind possesses
sensibility.

§ 146. THE STAGES IN THE FORMATION OF THE
SPIRIT

With this explanation and limitation of the apparent faculties
of the mind the view can now be united, which discerns the
different stages in the formation of the spirit. Indeed it is ob-
vious, that thereby the transformations must at the same time
be considered, which affect the body in its different periods of
life, and which without doubt favor and support the psychical
processes. But after the subtraction of these bodily condi-
tions there remain nevertheless always a series of purely
psychical transformations residual, resting chiefly upon the
changes which take place in the combinations of ideas.

Ideas are barren of connection and therefore purely sensuous
in their first origin in the newborn child, but after a short time

446 MORITZ WILHELM DROBISCH

those associations have already been formed which are neces-
sary to memory, and a little later that desire appears, which
not always the need of food, but often only the sight of the
nurse calls forth. In the boy, it is true, highly manifold com-
binations of ideas have been formed, and we must concede to
him memory and imagination, understanding and will, in very
many spheres of his capacity for forming ideas. But neverthe-
less, sensibility, memory, and imagination still dominate in him,
to which his fondness for sweetmeats, his love of sightseeing and
curiosity, his ability for learning by heart, his joy in narratives
of adventure, his desire for sport, sufficiently testify. The
youth begins to feel: the scattered ideas concentrate in him to
form a more abiding and more powerful empirical self, by which
he not only acquires power over his actions and thereby be-
comes responsible, but also learns to guide his imagination in
poetic composition, and to formulate his thought in reflection.
With higher self-consciousness the inner world opens before
him, and with it the finer feeling for the beautiful in nature, art,
poetry, and the other sex. — Still experience is lacking, which
gives maturity to the understanding. This manhood gives with
increasing needs and cares, for the supplying of which under-
standing must serve; but the execution of its decisions de-
mands energy of the will, and the duties to society and to the
family, a moral content of the will. Self-control must, therefore,
now be present in constant increase, and a constant, true, and
reasonable activity towards the outer world must take the
place of youthful vacillation. With self-control reason is finally
acquired, the strength of which must increase in the same meas-
ure as that in which sensuous impressionability, the power of
desires and passions, decrease.

Thus the combinations among ideas become greater in num-
ber, and more perfected in the course of life, and as a result of it
restrain and control its movements. The stress of emotions and
passions give place to more mature considerations; absentmind-
edness and the flightiness of imagination yield to the sharp
attention and many sided circumspectness of reflection; know-
ledge tempers the disquietude of doubt; and when this know-

EMPIRICAL PSYCHOLOGY 447

ledge can go no further, faith succeeds to its function. The
entire development of the mind progresses always towards a
more and more harmonious form, and its activity towards a
more and more peaceful movement. But there are not newly
awakening faculties of the mind which produce this change of
phenomena; but there are always only the ideas, their com-
binations and movements, ideation and its states, by means
of which they become intelligible.

FRANCOIS PIERRE GONTHIER
MAINE DE BIRAN
(1766-1824)

ESSAY UPON THE FOUNDATIONS OF
PSYCHOLOGY

Translated from the French* by
BENJAMIN RAND

CHAPTER I. FACTS OF THE INNER SENSE

“ I sat characterise from the present this inner sense (sens
intime) in a more explicit manner under the name of sense of
effort, of which the cause or productive force becomes self, by
the single fact of the distinction which is established between
the subject of that free effort, and the object which resists im-
mediately through its own inertia. I say immediately, in order
to announce here in advance another very essential distinction,
that I believe myself authorized to set up between the resist-
ance or relative inertia of one’s own body, which yields to or
obeys voluntary effort, and the absolute resistance of the for-
eign body, which may be invincible.

The sense of effort has not been designated until now by its
specific name, precisely because it is the innermost, or the
nearest to ourselves, or rather because it is ourselves. If one
should demand at this stage to be made acquainted with it by
a more detailed exposition, I should reply, that each of our
senses defines itself by its exercise. If there were, for example,
one born paralytic who had never acted voluntarily to move

* From Maine de Biran’s Essai sur les fondements de la psychologie (1812), in
his Quvres inédites, publiées par Ernest Naville, Paris, 1859, tom. 1.

MAINE DE BIRAN 449

his limbs or to set in motion foreign bodies, — supposing that
such a person, which appears impossible to me, could have
had the least degree of intelligence, — there would be no more
possibility to make him understand by language what effort is,
than there is to explain to one born blind what color and the
sense of sight are. Nevertheless, as one explains not the sense
or the phenomenon of vision, but rather the conditions, in-
struments, and physical or organic means, which serve to effect
it, it will perhaps not be useless to analyse also physically
the instruments and means of exercise of the internal sense of
effort, in order to learn the better to circumscribe its domain
by distinguishing it from that of an external sense with which
it might be confused. I shall therefore enter upon some con-
siderations which appear to me important.

This study, foreign as it is to the proper analysis of the phe-
nomena of the inner sense, which excludes everything that be-
longs to the province of external observation, will be included
more expressly in the object of another portion of this work,
where we shall be occupied more particularly with the relation
of the phenomena of physical or organic nature than with those
of psychology; but I cannot proceed without giving the follow-
ing physiological hints as indispensable to my actual purpose.

1. The organs of sensation with which the physiologists have
heretofore been exclusively occupied, appear confined to the
cerebral nervous system, distinguished by a well known ob-
server ! under the title of the Nervous system of animal life. The
sense of effort, here in question, is limited by that part of the
muscular system, which the action of the will expressly sets in
play, and which physiology distinguishes also under the title of
a System of the voluntary muscles of the animal life.

2. In the natural and original state of the sentient being
there is no affection felt in any part whatsoever of its organism,
nor any object perceived externally, except in so far as the nerv-
ous extremities are at first excited by some cause foreign to
the self, and as this first impression is uninterruptedly trans-
mitted by the sensory nerves which receive it as far as the

1 Cf. Bichat’s works: De la vie et la mort and Anatomie Physiologique.

'450 THE FOUNDATIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY

centre of the brain, where perception is supposed to occur,
although we are profoundly ignorant of what takes place in the
nerves and the brain whenever an impression is felt or per-
ceived. Nevertheless, daily experience proves that such percep-
tion is always preceded or accompanied by the organic condi-
tions which we have just mentioned. But in the exercise of the
sense of effort something more takes place.

Let us first suppose that the muscular organ be excited by an
external cause, or by a stimulus adapted to set in play that vital
property that the physiologists name irritability or sensory
organic contractility; or again, let us suppose that a movable
part may be aroused or strongly agitated by an external force,
there will indeed clearly result from it a particular impression,
which one may call muscular sensation or sensation of move-
ment, but which could not be confused with that mode of our
activity which we designate by the term of willed effort. In
fact, this muscular sensation is subject to the same laws or
organic conditions which determine the general sensory func-
tions; it is always an impression received and transmitted to
the brain, where it is felt as a passive mode foreign to the will or
to the self. But in effort such as we perceive and reproduce at
each instant, there is no excitation, no foreign stimulus, and
nevertheless the muscular organ is set in play, the contraction
effected, the movement produced, without any cause other
than this inner force which is felt or immediately perceived in
its exercise, and also without any sign being capable of repre-
senting it to the imagination or tosome sense other than its own.

Let us however represent this force in exercise by an image,
and, by placing ourselves for a moment at the physiological
point of view, let us suppose that it be localised in the centre of
the brain. When the effort is made, this central spring to the
release of which there is referred by a sort of imaginary fiction
the feeling of our activity, will be said to enter into action of 1t-
self.1 Tadopt this last expression, as a material sign of voluntary
effort, or of an action which is neither actually compelled nor

1 An expression of M. Cabanis in his great work upon the Rapports dw
physique et du moral de Vv homme.

MAINE DE BIRAN 451

provoked by any sensory impression coming from without, nor
even produced in any part of the nervous system outside the
centre. The first motor determination being thus begotten in
the centre, is immediately transmitted by the nerves to the
muscular organ. This is contracted, or extended; its specific
irritability is set in action, as it could be by a foreign stimulus.
But, whereas, in this last case, the simple passive muscular
sensation commences at the external organ in order to termi-
nate at the centre which receives it; here the active motor
stimulus commences in the centre where the cause resides,
which, after having performed the contraction or movement,
perceives as effect by means of the nervous transmission the
muscular impression which it originates in the beginning. I
here discover the symbol of complete action, the physiological
signs of which I must endeavor to analyse more expressly; be-
cause, it is upon these signs alone that the analysis can here
be based, since every action of the will is truly indivisible and
instantaneous as known through the inner sense.

In considering, therefore, this action from the point of view
of physiology, I distinguish two elements, or two moments,
in which it is accomplished. To the first corresponds the simple
motor determination or the release of the central spring
affecting the nerves. However, that part of the action, thus
limited to the nervous system, does not appear to be accom-
panied by a particular internal perception; but supposing there
were such perception, and that it were not such as to be neces-
sarily confused with that of resistance or inertia of the con-
tracted muscle, which accompanies or immediately follows it,
one still could not regard it as the symbolical sign of individual-
ity or of the self, which can begin to know itself, or to exist for
itself, only so far as it can distinguish itself as subject of effort
from an object which resists. Thus the kind of obscure per-
ception which would correspond to this incomplete action
which is performed from a single centre upon a homogeneous
nervous system, would be still only a vague and confused feel-
ing of existence, to which perhaps some species of animals are
limited. To the second moment corresponds that which takes

452 THE FOUNDATIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY

place in the motor system, from the instant when the muscle
contracts, until the effect of the contraction is transmitted or
carried to the centre, where the muscular sensation then takes
on this characteristic of reduplication which constitutes the
inner consciousness of effort, inseparable from a resistance, or
the inner consciousness of the self which knows itself by dis-
tinguishing itself from the resisting object.

Let us now pass from the symbol or the sign to the thing sig-
nified, and compare the internal facts with the hypotheses or the
physiological facts.

We know, from a very constant experience, that the sentient
being can never give to itself by any exercise of its activity,
those agreeable or disagreeable impressions which affects it in
spite of itself; that it is not the artisan nor the creator of those
sensations or of those images which come into existence, suc-
ceed one another or disappear, without any concurrence of its
will, or even against its desire. We know, moreover, from the
observation of sentient nature, and from the various experi-
ments of physiologists, that there exist sure and constant
means to set in play the animal sensitivity by appropriate
excitations, and to draw from the sentient being all the signs of
the affections, of pain, or of physical pleasure, that one makes it
undergo. The internal sense of effort on the other hand can be
set in play only by this force, which is interior and sui generis,
that we call will, and with which what we call our se/f is com-
pletely identified. .

The power of effort, or the ability to commence and to con-
tinue any series of movements or of actions, is a fact of inner
sense as evident as that of our existence itself. There is no for-
eign force to which that power is necessarily subordinated.
Observe thus, how powerless all the external or artificial means
may be which would tend to imitate the results of that acting
force, or to reproduce and to provoke the signs of its manifes-
tation. If you apply a stimulus, either directly upon a muscle,
or upon the trunk, or the nervous centre which send ramifica-
tions to it, you of a certainty bring about contractions, sensed
in the living, and purely organic in the dead. In regard to the

MAINE DE BIRAN 453

will of man, or the power of effort, it dwells in independence in
the innermost being, beyond all reach of any excitation from
without. Neither the inducements of pleasure, nor the goads of
pain, are capable of irresistibly compelling it. When it exer-
cises itself, all physiological laws are disturbed; all the ex-
ternal signs of sensitivity or of contractility are uncertain, and
can be quiescent or deceptive. How powerless, for example,
the most excruciating pain over the will of a Mucius
Scevola? Before it yields, the arm which it holds motionless
upon the burning coals will be reduced to ashes. Is not then the
force which thus dominates sensibility and rules it by its own
laws, which compels the body to stop or to rush forward, even
when its instinct urges it to flight, a force that is specific and
Sut juris.

But still we cannot speak of that moral force guided by
motives which can render effort sublime. Before motives to
act exist, there is surely a power of movement or of action; be-
fore this movement has become means, it has first been itself
the aim or proper end of the willing. Finally it is necessary that
the self shall have begun to exist for itself, or to circumscribe
itself in its own domain, before extending over nature its
constitutive force. Thereby are justified those considerations
which might appear to us somewhat too minute, and to others
too closely allied to this materialism which they are calculated
to attack in its first foundation.

For us, therefore, who are here occupied only with a primi-
tive fact of the inner sense, the willis as yet only the power of
effort. We have just characterised this force through the signs,
or the first conditions, or the instruments of its exercise. We
now need to seek by analysis, what may be the origin of this
exercise, and that of the individual] personality which cannot be
separated from it. But before entering upon this analysis, let
us summarise the consequences of what precedes.

1. The primitive fact of the inner sense is none other than that
of a voluntary effort, inseparable from some organic resistance,
or from some muscular sensation of which the self iscause. This
fact is thus a relation of which the two terms are distinct with-

4s4. THE FOUNDATIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY

out being separated. In order that they should be separated,
it would be necessary, under the physiological hypothesis taken
as a symbol, that the immediate action exerted from the centre
upon the motor nerves be accompanied by a particular internal
perception, distinct and separate from the muscular sensation;
but therefore, the same internal perception would consist in an-
other relation still more inner, between the hyperorganic force
exerted from the centre and the nerves upon which it immedi-
ately acts. It would be, therefore, the nervous inertia which
would replace in that case the muscular inertia, and the charac-
ter of the primitive fact would not be changed.

2. The essential character of the primitive fact consists in
that, that neither one nor the other of the terms of the funda-
mental relation is constituted in necessary dependence upon the
impressions from without. Hence the knowledge of the se/f can
be separated in its principle from that of the external universe.

3. The effort-cause, or the self has the internal consciousness
of its existence as soon as it can distinguish this cause, which is
itself, from the effect or from the contraction referred to the
organic object, which is no longer itself, and which it places
outside.?

4. The primitive fact which necessarily serves as the point
of departure to science, therefore resolves itself into a primary
effort, where analysis is still able to distinguish two elements: a
hyperorganic force naturally in relation with a living resistance.

5. The idea or reflexive abstract notion of force is later
deduced from the fact, or from the primitive feeling of effort.
In following an inverse course and starting from the idea of
absolute force, all the metaphysicians, up to and inclusive of
Locke, have displaced the origin of science. They have desired
to deduce the actual and the real from the possible: that was
to begin in darkness.

We do not fear to lose ourselves in darkness by seeking at
present how effort can begin to be willed, what the origin is of
this primary action, of this free will, which is the primary condi-

1 We shall see that this outside is not external extensity, nor even the form of
space, such as the Kantians conceive it, as inherent to sensibility.

MAINE DE BIRAN 455

tion of the consciousness of one’s self, and, consequently, of all
other consciousness. We havea thread which guides us in these
researches, and which, if it does not lead to the absolute truth
which we seek, enables us at least not to lose ourselves in ideal
regions, whence there would be no outlet or means to retrace
our steps. :

CHAPTER II. THE ORIGIN OF EFFORT, AND OF
PERSONALITY

IF it were true, as philosophers who have attempted to
derive everything from desire think, that will were nothing
other than desire, which itself is confused with a first need of
the organised living being; if it were true, or conformed to the
facts of the inner sense, that instinctive determinations, re-
garded as completed sensations, embraced judgment, desire,
or will; if finally it were true, that the very first movement made
by each of us had been accompanied by will, it would be very
useless to seek, I do not say, the origin of that absolute force
identical with the soul, or of that which stands for it in all sys-
tems, but the origin of the feeling of its exercise, or of the effort
with which the ego identifies itself. This origin indeed would be
confused with the first rudiments of life, and would be traced
back to the organic germ which possibly exists before fecunda-
tion. If this system were that of nature, it would turn out I have
pursued up to the present only a chimera, and all the precise
distinctions I have sought to establish would disappear like
vain shadows. The obligation is thus imposed upon me to
make it evident that my present researches have a real object,
or that there may be an origin of voluntary effort or of the
self, posterior in order of time to the birth of the sentient being,
to the first instinctive determinations, to the needs, and even
to the desire, which differ from the will, properly so called, as
passion differs from action.

I am going at the outset to place myself anew at the physi-
ological point of view, and upon the very ground of the
philosophers who have assimilated or confounded in the origin,

456 THE FOUNDATIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY

everything that I believe should be distinguished or even
separated, in order to have a science of principles. If the dis-
tinctions that I establish turn out to be confirmed by physio-
logy itself they are doubtless likely to receive in consequence
more weight and value in the eyes of those to whom I take the
liberty of opposing them.

According to the principles of a physiologist,! who was gifted
with the genius of experiment rather than with the talent for
classification, one is justified in the recognition of three modes,
or three kinds of muscular contractility, which are distin-
guished among themselves in the same manner as the causes
which produce or determine the contractions. The first kind is
a simple organic property inherent to the muscular fibre, and
which has been known since Haller by the term irritability. We
have no need to know up to what point the nervous influence
contributes to set it in action, because this property, simply
vital, happens to be outside of the object of our researches.
What is of importance to us, is to recognise the truly distin-
guishing characteristics in the sentient contractility, which may
also be called animal, and a contractility properly voluntary.
Let us seek, therefore, to specify clearly the physiological char-
acteristics of these two kinds. Both of them expressly relate to
cerebral influence, but under very different conditions, and it
is not permissible to confuse them even physiologically.

Affective impressions excited in the nervous system by for-
eign or inner causes, being transmitted to the brain or to some
other of the partial centres, determine those powerful reactions
which tend to set in play the locomotor organs: hence the ani-
mal contractions and all the instinctive movements. I have
just spoken of partial centres as of points of reaction, because
it is not proved that it is the direct influence of a single centre
which determines always the instinctive locomotion of animals
as of the foetus, and several analogies tend to prove the opposite.
Supposing, what appears to be contradicted by many physiolog-
ical observations, that a single centre determines solely by its
reaction the kind of movement which is in question here, at

1 Cf. Bichat’s Recherches physiologiques sur la vie et la mort.

MAINE DE BIRAN 457

least it is true that this centre plays in that case a passive or
merely sympathetic réle influenced, as it is, by the impres-
sions of the internal or external nervous organs which are the
true determining causes of these animal contractions.

But in the contraction that is strictly voluntary, it is clearly
in a single centre that the action commences which, without
being provoked or compelled by any foreign impression, is
transmitted directly to the organs of movement by the inter-
mediary of the nerves. We find here the only true sign of vol-
untary effort, such as we have characterised it.

As the voluntary contraction thus differs from the animal
contraction, so likewise the will, the individual and free power
of effort and movement, differ from appetite, need, and all feel-
ings of discomfort, of disquietude, etc. which have been arbi-
trarily united under the general term of will. Here both the psy-
chological and physiological points of view perfectly correspond.
The sympathetic reaction of the centre, which occasions the
animal contractions or the instinctive movements, is the sign of
aflective desire very improperly called will. The action, com-
mencing ‘in a single centre, which occasions the voluntary
movement that is in the power of the individual to make or not
to make, is the proper sign of an impelling will. The general
faculty in question from the first physiological point of view, is
not only subordinated to, but identical with the sensibility con-
sidered as the principle or the cause which determines animal
movement. It is, therefore, not necessary to seek any other
origin for it than that of life itself of the organised being, which
feels only so far as it is moved, and which moves only as far as
it feels. In this case, it is conditionally true to say that the first
of all movements has been accompanied by desire or by will,
and that the instinctive determinations, being sensations as the
others, include judgment, desire, etc. The individual faculty
which is in question in the second point of view, far from being
subordinate to the sensibility, is most often in opposition to it;
and we have already seen that it has its peculiar and primor-
dial laws, outside the circle of all affective impressions.
~ The experience of the inner sense suffices to assure us in fact

458 THE FOUNDATIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY

that, in the cases in which movements of any kind are com-
pelled and abruptly incited by violent appetites, passions, or
too emotional excitations of the sensibility, we ourselves move,
or rather our body moves without our leave, without, or even
against the explicit orders of the will, which is oppressed and
as it were nullified, by the very fact that sensibility predomin-
ates or rules exclusively. How could it therefore be possible
that the same affective impressions, which destroy the control
of the will, and absorb or hamper that power, even when it is
already fully established, would originally serve to develop
it and to set it in exercise? How is it possible to suppose that
the being, which begins to live, can perceive or feel its own
movements, and begin to derive therefrom some knowledge,
when we ourselves are completely ignorant alike of the cause
and of the effect of those movements, in the midst of the dis-
turbance of the affections which provoke or even prevail over
them? How finally could the very principle, which obscures
and so often extinguishes in us the light of consciousness, have
been the first source of it?

Weare, therefore, justified in saying from our present stand-
point, that the first movements, which are determined by ap-
petite or organic need, or even accompanied by desire, differ
as much from will properly so-called, as the peculiar and direct
action exerted from a single centre differs from all sympathetic
reactions. Thus, the first acts of this nascent will, explained in
its principles, differ from the blind determinations of instinct,
which precedes them in the order of time, but without serving
them in their origin. There is then occasion to seek by an
explicit analysis of primitive facts, what is the order of progress
or of conditions which may have produced the first exercise of
the individual power of effort, and with it the first feeling of the
self ; that which is equivalent to asking what is the law, either
physiological or psychological, of the transition from instinctive
movements, to voluntary and free movements, accompanied
by effort.

As long as the organic centre, to which physiologists refer
motor determination, only reacts in consequence of the impres-

MAINE DE BIRAN 459

sions which it receives from diverse sensitive organs with which
it is in relation, the movements thus produced, not being capa-
ble of being perceived or felt as distinct from their producing
causes, cannot even begin to be voluntary. For if distinct per-
ception is not anterior, as I believe, to any exercise whatever of
the will, neither can this latter in its turn precede any degree
whatsoever of perception; and although it may be true to say,
that the thinking being cannot begin to know save in so far as
he begins to act and to will, it is none the less true, in the ordin-
ary phrase, that one cannot expressly will that of which one
has no knowledge.

If one appears to revolve here in a vicious circle, the reason
is, that as a result of having failed to recognize the truly prim-
itive fact, one wishes to distinguish or separate two acts which
are reduced to one in this fact, and that one already applies the
law of succession, or like the Kantians, the complete form of
time, to the first term of every succession, at the origin of all
time.

Through the indeterminate order of the progress of being,
simple in the vital stage, but destined to become double in the
human stage,! a period arrives when the exclusive rule of instinct
tends to end or to be united to another order of faculties. Al-
ready the impressions begin to become less vivid, less general,
less tumultuous; habit has blunted their edge which was at first
strongly affective; the appetites are less pressing, the move-
ments less brusque, less automatic; the organs of locomotion
begin to harden, their special irritability diminishes; they yield
less promptly to every external cause of contraction. Thus, on
the one side, these organs have contracted habits in repeated
instinctive locomotion, and they are disposed in such way to
comply with more facility to the new contractions that the will
is to impose upon them; on the other hand, the motor centre
has also acquired in reacting such determinations that it is
capable of entering spontaneously into action, by virtue of that
general law of habit, in consequence of which a living organ

1 Homo simplex in vitalitate, duplex in humanitate, says Boerhaave energet-
ically, and with profound truth.

460 THE FOUNDATIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY

tends to renew of itself the impressions or the movements
that a foreign cause has a number of times aroused in it, or in
consequence of which makes it own the dispositions of another
organ with which it has sympathetically shared.

When the centre thus accomplishes movements by its own
and initial action, the latter take a wholly different character,
and become spontaneous, instead of being instinctive as they
were at the outset. Now this spontaneity is still not the will, or
the power of effort, but it immediately precedes it. By virtue
of the spontaneity of action of the centre, which is the imme-
diate term or proper instrument of the hyperorganic force of the
soul, that force, which could neither perceive nor distinctly feel
the instructive movements; begins to feel the spontaneous
movements which no emotion troubles or disturbs. But it can-
not begin to feel them thus as produced by its immediate in-
strument, without appropriating to itself their power. As soon
as it feels that power, it exerts it by accomplishing that move-
ment itself. As soon as it effects it, it perceives its effort with
the resistance, it is a cause for itself, and in relation to the
effect that it produces, with freedom, it is the se/f.

Thus personality begins with the first complete action of a
hyperorganic force which is for itself, or as se/f, only in so far as
it knows itself, and which begins to know itself only in so far as
it begins to act with freedom. The problem is not to know
what that force is in itself, how it exists, or when it begins
absolutely to exist, but when it begins to exist as an identical
person, as self. Now it exists for itself only in so far as it knows
itself, and it knows itself only in so far as it acts.

Although the primitive fact, of which we seek to determine
the source, seems to escape, in that source itself, from every
kind of experiment, and presents itself only as an hypothesis,
we can nevertheless discover some examples adapted to explain,
up to a certain point, the origin of personality, such as we have
just established it.

1. Insleep of the mind or of the self, it occurs sometimes that
one is awakened with a start in consequence of movements, of
words or of voices, produced by a spontaneity resembling that

MAINE DE BIRAN | 461

which serves originally as intermediary between instinct and
will. At the very instant of this sudden awakening, the indi-
vidual feels these movements, not accompanied with effort as
they are in the state of waking, but with a feeling of power to
make them, which is, in this case, the memory of that effort. It
is in this way that he appropriates to himself in their result
those spontaneous movements that he has not determined in
their principle, and that conscious appropriation characterises
solely the perfect awakening. Therefore, in the origin of person-
ality, spontaneous movement awakens the soul, causes to arise
in it, as it were, the presentiment of a power which determines
the first voluntary effort, and with it the first knowledge.

2. In the newborn infant, and even during a certain period
after birth, the locomotion and voice are set in action only by
instinct. The infant frets and cries because it suffers, and in so
far as it is affected by simple needs or appetites. As long as
this purely sensitive state continues, will and apperception can-
not exist; for how can you suppose that the first cries of pain,
the first automatic movements, are acts of a faculty of will and
of judgment already in exercise, unless you admit these faculties
as innate or unconditioned? Without doubt the cries of an
infant have a significance or a natural sense, but that is for an
intelligent being capable of understanding or of interpreting it,
and not for the infant reduced to sensations and to animal con-
tractions. But apart from the exclusive domain of the affec-
tions, of the needs or appetites of instinct, the infant still cries
and frets by virtue of the determinations or of the habits con-
tracted by the motor centre and by the organs of movement or
of the voice. These movements then spontaneous are veritable
sensations. Soon they will be perceived, willed and trans-
formed by the infant itself, into involuntary signs of whichit will
make use in order to call for aid. Behold the first stage of man,
duplex in humanitate, the first sign of nascent personality. The
transition sought for is then accomplished. But how could it
have been possible, if the movements had always been the pro-
ducts of an instinctive and sympathetic reaction, carried away

,and repelled by vivid emotions, and finally if there had not

462 THE FOUNDATIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY

been an intermediary mode of motility such, that sensation,
distinct from the movement performed, be accompanied by a
feeling of power, and gives rise consequently to the exercise of
the will? Such is the order or the series of progress; such
is the transition from instinct to spontaneity, and from that to
the will, which constitutes the person, the self. The animal
rapidly passes beyond the first two degrees; man alone can
attain to the third, but he attains it only progressively, accord-
ing to certain laws or conditions, that philosophy should seek
to know in order to find the principles and origin of science. If
we have not been able to dispel all the clouds which conceal
that origin, we have at least shown how, and in what sense, it is
necessary to admit an assignable origin of personality; how or
by what procedure of analysis, one can hope to find it identi-
fied, not with the first sensation of a passive substance, but with
the first action of a hyperorganic force.

JAMES MILL
(1773-1836)

ANALYSIS OF THE PHENOMENA OF THE
HUMAN MIND*

CHAPTER III. THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS

* “To have a clear view of the phenomena of the mind, as mere affections or
states of it, existing successively, and in a certain series, which we are able, there-
fore, to predict, in consequence of our knowledge of the past, is, I conceive, to have
made the most important acquisition which the intellectual inquirer can make.”
Brown, Lectures, i. 544.

THOUGHT succeeds thought; idea follows idea, incessantly.
If our senses are awake, we are continually receiving sensa-
tions, of the eye, the ear, the touch, and so forth; but not sensa-
tions alone. After sensations, ideas are perpetually excited of
sensations formerly received; after those ideas, other ideas: and
during the whole of our lives, a series of those two states of con-
sciousness, called sensations, and ideas, is constantly going on.
I see a horse: that is a sensation. Immediately I think of his
master: that is an idea. The idea of his master makes me think
of his office; he is a minister of state: that is another idea. The
idea of a minister of state makes me think of public affairs; and
I am led into a train of political ideas; when Iam summoned to
dinner. This is a new sensation, followed by the idea of dinner,
and of the company with whom I am to partake it. The sight
of the company and of the food are other sensations; these sug-
gest ideas without end; other sensations perpetually intervene,
suggesting other ideas: and so the process goes on.

In contemplating this train of feelings, of which our lives
consist, it first of all strikes the contemplator, as of importance

* London, 1829; new ed., with notes illustrative and critical by Alexander

Bain, Andrew Findlater, and George Grote, edited with additional notes by John
Stuart Mill, ib. 1860, vol. i.

“464, JAMES MILL

to ascertain, whether they occur casually and irregularly, or
according to a certain order.

With respect to the SENSATIONS, it is obvious enough that
they occur, according to the order established among what we
call the objects of nature, whatever those objects are; to ascer-
tain more and more of which order is the business of physical
philosophy in all its branches.

Of the order established among the objects of nature, by
which we mean the objects of our senses, two remarkable cases
are all which here we are called upon to notice; the SYNCHRON-
OUS ORDER and the SUCCESSIVE ORDER. The synchronous order,
or order of simultaneous existence, is the order in space; the
successive order, or order of antecedent and consequent exist-
ence, is the order in time. Thus the various objects in my
room, the chairs, the tables, the books, have the synchronous
order, or order in space. The falling of the spark, and the ex-
plosion of the gunpowder, have the successive order, or order
in time.

According to this order, in the objects of sense, there is a
synchronous, and a successive, order of our sensations. I have
SYNCHRONICALLY, or at the same instant, the sight of a great
variety of objects; touch of all the objects with which my body
is in contact; hearing of all the sounds which are reaching my
ears; smelling of all the smells which are reaching my nostrils;
taste of the apple which I am eating; the sensation of resistance
both from the apple which is in my mouth, and the ground on
which I stand; with the sensation of motion from the act of
walking. I have succEssIvELy the sight of the flash from the
mortar fired at a distance, the hearing of the report, the sight
of the bomb, and of its motion in the air, the sight of its fall, the
sight and hearing of its explosion, and lastly, the sight of all the
effects of that explosion.

Among the objects which I have thus observed synchron-
ically, or successively; that is, from which I have had synchron-
ical or successive sensations; there are some which I have so
observed frequently; others which I have so observed not fre-
quently: in other words, of my sensations some have been fre-

PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND 46s

quently synchronical, others not frequently; some frequently
successive, others not frequently. Thus, my sight of roast beef,
and my taste of roast beef, have been frequently SYNCHRONICAL;
my smell of a rose, and my sight and touch of a rose, have been
- frequently synchronical; my sight of a stone, and my sensa-
tions of its hardness, and weight, have been frequently syn-
chronical. Others of my sensations have not been frequently
synchronical: my sight of a lion, and the hearing of his roar;
my sight of a knife, and its stabbing a man. My sight of the
flash of lightning, and my hearing of the thunder, have been
often SUCCESSIVE; the pain of cold, and the pleasure of heat,
have been often successive; the sight of a trumpet, and the
sound of a trumpet, have been often successive. On the other
hand, my sight of hemlock, and my taste of hemlock, have not
been often successive: and so.on.

It so happens, that, of the objects from which we derive the
greatest part of our sensations, most of those which are ob-
served synchronically, are frequently observed synchronically;
most of those which are observed successively, are frequently
observed successively. In other words, most of our synchron-
ical sensations, have been frequently synchronical; most of our
successive sensations, have been frequently successive. Thus,
most of our synchronical sensations are derived from the objects
around us, the objects which we have the most frequent occa-
sion to hear and see; the members of our family; the furniture
of our houses; our food; the instruments of our occupations or
amusements. In like manner, of those sensations which we
have had in succession, we have had the greatest number
repeatedly in succession; the sight of fire, and its warmth; the
touch of snow, and its cold; the sight of food, and its taste.

Thus much with regard to the order of SENSATIONS; next
with regard to the order of IDEAS.

As ideas are not derived from objects, we should not expect
their order to be derived from the order of objects; but as they
are derived from sensations, we might by analogy expect, that
they would derive their order from that of the sensations; and
this to a great extent is the case.

466 JAMES MILL

Our ideas spring up, or exist, in the order in which the sensa-
tions existed, of which they are the copies.

This is the general law of the “Association of Ideas”; by
which term, let it be remembered, nothing is here meant to be
expressed, but the order of occurrence.

In this law, the following things are to be carefully observed.

1. Of those sensations which occurred synchronically, the
ideas also spring up synchronically. I have seen a violin, and
heard the tones of the violin, synchronically. If I think of the
tones of the violin, the visible appearance of the violin at the
same time occurs to me. I have seen the sun, and the sky in
which it is placed, synchronically. If I think of the one, I think
of the other at the same time.

One of the cases of synchronical sensation, which deserves
the most particular attention, is, that of the several sensations.
derived from one and the same object; a stone, for example,
a flower, a table, a chair, a horse, a man.

From a stone I have had, synchronically, the sensation of
colour, the sensation of hardness, the sensations of shape, and
size, the sensation of weight. When the idea of one of these
sensations occurs, the ideas of all of them occur. They exist in
my mind synchronically; and their synchronical existence is
called the idea of the stone; which, it is thus plain, is not a single
idea, but a number of ideas in a particular state of combina-
tion.

Thus, again, I have smelt a rose, and looked at, and handled
a rose, synchronically; accordingly the name rose suggests to
me all those ideas synchronically; and this combination of those
simple ideas is called my idea of the rose.

My idea of an animal is still more complex. The word thrush,
for example, not only suggests an idea of a particular colour and
shape, and size, but of song, and flight, and nestling, and eggs,
and callow young, and others.

My idea of a man is the most complex of all; including not
only colour, and shape, and voice, but the whole class of events
in which I have observed him either the agent or the patient.
_ 2. As the ideas of the sensations which occurred synchron-

PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND 467.

ically, rise synchronically, so the ideas of the sensations which
occurred successively, rise successively.

Of this important case of association, or of the successive
order of our ideas, many remarkable instances might be ad-
duced. Of these none seems better adapted to the learner than
the repetition of any passage, or words; the Lord’s Prayer, for
example, committed to memory. In learning the passage, we
repeat it; that is, we pronounce the words, in successive order,
from the beginning to the end. The order of the sensations is
successive. When we proceed to repeat the passage, the ideas
of the words also rise in succession, the preceding always sug-
gesting the succeeding, and no other. Our suggests Father,
Father suggests which, which suggests art; and so on, to the end.
How remarkably this is the case, any one may convince him-
self, by trying to repeat backwards, even a passage with which
he is as familiar as the Lord’s Prayer. The case is the same
with numbers. A man can go on with the numbers in the pro-
gressive order, one, two, three, &c. scarcely thinking of his act;
and though it is possible for him to repeat them backward, be-
cause he is accustomed to subtraction of numbers, he cannot do
so without an effort.

Of witnesses in courts of justice it has been remarked, that
eye-witnesses, and ear-witnesses, always tell their story in the
chronological order; in other words, the ideas occur to them in
the order in which the sensations occurred; on the other hand,
that witnesses, who are inventing, rarely adhere to the chrono-
logical order.

3. A far greater number of our sensations are received in the
successive, than in the synchronical order. Of our ideas, also,
the number is infinitely greater that rise in the successive than
the synchronical order.

4. In the successive order of ideas, that which precedes, is
sometimes called the suggesting, that which succeeds, the sug-
gested idea; not that any power is supposed to reside in the ante-
cedent over the consequent; suggesting, and suggested, mean
only antecedent and consequent, with the additional idea, that
such order is not casual, but, to a certain degree, permanent,

468 JAMES MILL

5. Of the antecedent and consequent feelings, or the suggest-
ing, and suggested; the antecedent may be either sensations or
ideas; the consequent are always ideas. An idea may be excited
either by a sensation or an idea. The sight of the dog of my
- friend is a sensation, and it excites the idea of my friend. The
idea of Professor Dugald Stewart delivering a lecture, recalls
the idea of the delight with which I heard him; that, the idea
of the studies in which it engaged me; that, the trains of thought
which succeeded; and each epoch of my mental history, the
succeeding one, till the present moment; in which I am en-
deavouring to present to others what appears to me valuable
among the innumerable ideas of which this lengthened train
has been composed.

6. As there are degrees in sensations, and degrees in ideas; for
one sensation is more vivid than another sensation, one idea
more vivid than another idea; so there are degrees in associa-
tion. One association, we say, is stronger than another: First,
when it is more permanent than another: Secondly, when it is
performed with more certainty: Thirdly, when it is performed
with more facility.

It is well known, that some associations are very transient,
others very permanent. The case which we formerly men-
tioned, that of repeating words committed to memory, affords
an apt illustration. In some cases, we can perform the repeti-
tion, when a few hours, or a few days have elapsed; but not
after a longer period. In others, we can perform it after the
lapse of many years. There are few children in whose minds
some association has not been formed between darkness and
ghosts. In some this association is soon dissolved; in some it
continues for life.

In some cases the association takes place with less, in some
with greater certainty. Thus, in repeating words, I am not
sure that I shall not commit mistakes, if they are imperfectly
got; and I may at one trial repeat them right, at another
wrong: I am sure of always repeating those correctly, which I
have got perfectly. Thus, in my native language, the associa-
tion between the name and the thing is certain; in a language

PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND 469

with which I am imperfectly acquainted, not certain. In ex-
pressing myself in my own language, the idea of the thing sug-
gests the idea of the name with certainty. In speaking a lan-
guage with which I am imperfectly acquainted, the idea of the
thing does not with certainty suggest the idea of i name; at
one time it may, at another not.

That ideas are associated in some cases with more, in some
with less facility, is strikingly illustrated by the same instance,
of a language with which we are well, and a language with
which we are imperfectly, acquainted. In speaking our own
language, we are not conscious of any effort; the associations
between the words and the ideas appear spontaneous. In
endeavouring to speak a language with which we are im-
perfectly acquainted, we are sensible of a painful effort: the
associations between the words and ideas being not ready, or
immediate.

7. The causes of strength in association seem all to be re-
solvable into two; the vividness of the associated feelings; and
the frequency of the association.

In general, we convey not a very precise meaning, when we
speak of the vividness of sensations and ideas. We may be
understood when we say that, generally speaking, the sensation
is more vivid than the idea; or the primary, than the secondary
feeling; though in dreams, and in delirium, ideas are mistaken
for sensations. But when we say that one sensation is more
vivid than another, there is much more uncertainty. We can
distinguish those sensations which are pleasurable, and those
which are painful, from such as are not so; and when we call the
pleasurable and painful more vivid, than those which are not
so, we speak intelligibly. We can also distinguish degrees of
pleasure, and of pain; and when we call the sensation of the
higher degree more vivid than the sensation of the lower
degree, we may again be considered as expressing a meaning
tolerably precise.

In calling one IDEA more vivid than another, if we confine the
appellation to the ideas of such SENSATIONS as may with preci-
sion be called more or less vivid; the sensations of pleasure and

470 JAMES MILL

-pain, in their various degrees, compared with sensations which
we do not call either pleasurable or painful; our language will
still have a certain degree of precision. But what is the meaning
which I annex to my words, when I say, that my idea of the
taste of the pine-apple which I tasted yesterday is vivid; my
idea of the taste of the foreign fruit which I never tasted but
once in early life, is not vivid? If I mean that I can more cer-
tainly distinguish the more recent, than the more distant sensa-
tion, there is still some-precision in my language; because it
seems true of all my senses, that if I compare a distant sensa-
tion with the present, I am less sure of its being or not being a
repetition of the same, than if I compare a recent sensation
with a present one. Thus, if I yesterday had a smell of a very
peculiar kind, and compare it with a present smell, I can judge
more accurately of the agreement or disagreement of the two
sensations, than if I compared the present with one much more
remote. The same is the case with colours, with sounds, with
feelings of touch, and of resistance. It is therefore sufficiently
certain, that the idea of the more recent sensation affords the
means of a more accurate comparison, generally, than the idea
‘of the more remote sensation. And thus we have three cases
of vividness, of which we can speak with some precision: the
case of sensations, as compared with ideas; the case of pleas-
urable and painful sensations, and their ideas as compared
with those which are not pleasurable or painful; and the case of
the more recent, compared with the more remote.

That the association of two ideas, but for once, does, in some
cases, give them a very strong connection, is within the sphere
of every man’s experience. The most remarkable cases are
probably those of pain and pleasure. Some persons who have
experienced a very painful surgical operation, can never after-
wards bear the sight of the operator, however strong the grati-
tude which they may actually feel towards him. The meaning
is, that the sight of the operator, by a strong association, calls
up so vividly the idea of the pain of the operation, that it is
itself a pain. The spot on which a tender maiden parted with
her lover, when he embarked on the voyage from which he

PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND 471

never returned, cannot afterwards be seen by her without an
agony of grief.

These cases, also, furnish an apt illustration of the superior-
ity which the sensation possesses over the idea, as an associating
cause. Though the sight of the surgeon, the sight of the place,
would awaken the ideas which we have described, the mere
thought of them might be attended with no peculiar effect.
Those persons who have the association of frightful objects with
darkness, and who are transported with terrors when placed in
the dark, can still think of darkness without any emotion.

The same cases furnish an illustration of the effect of recency
on the strength of association. The sight, of the affecting spot
by the maiden, of the surgeon by the patient, would certainly
produce a more intense emotion, after a short, than after a long
interval. With most persons, time would weaken, and at last
dissolve, the association.

So much with regard to vividness, as a cause of strong asso-
ciations. Next, we have to consider frequency or repetition;
which is the most remarkable and important cause of the
strength of our associations.

Of any two sensations, frequently perceived together, the
ideas are associated. Thus, at least, in the minds of English-
men, the idea of a soldier, and the idea of a red coat are asso-
ciated; the idea of a clergyman, and the idea of a black coat; the
idea of a quaker, and of a broad-brimmed hat; the idea of a
woman and the idea of petticoats. A peculiar taste suggests
the idea of an apple; a peculiar smell the idea of a rose. If I
have heard a particular air frequently sung by a particular per-
son, the hearing of the air suggests the idea of the person.

The most remarkable exemplification of the effect of degrees
of frequency, in producing degrees of strength in the associa-
tions, is to be found in the cases in which the association is pur-
posely and studiously contracted; the cases in which we learn
something; the use of words, for example.

Every child learns the language which is spoken by those
around him. He also learns it by degrees. He learns first the
names of the most familiar objects; and among familiar objects,

472 JAMES MILL

the names of those which he most frequently has occasion to
name; himself, his nurse, his food, his playthings.

A sound heard once in conjunction with another sensation;
the word mamma, for example, with the sight of a woman,
would produce no greater effect on the child, than the conjunc-
tion of any other sensation, which once exists and is gone for-
ever. But if the word mamma is frequently pronounced, in
conjunction with the sight of a particular woman, the sound
will by degrees become associated with the sight; and as the
pronouncing of the name will call up the idea of the woman, so
the sight of the woman will call up the idea of the name.

The process becomes very perceptible to us, when, at years
of reflection, we proceed to learn a dead or foreign language. At
the first lesson, we are told, or we see in the dictionary, the
meaning of perhaps twenty words. But it is not joining the
word and its meaning once, that will make the word suggest its
meaning to us another time. We repeat the two in conjunction,
till we think the meaning so well associated with the word,
that whenever the word occurs to us, the meaning will occur
along with it. We are often deceived in this anticipation; and
finding that the meaning is not suggested by the word, we have
to renew the process of repetition, and this, perhaps, again, and
again. By force of repetition the meaning is associated, at
last, with every word of the language, and so perfectly, that
the one never occurs to us without the other.

Learning to play on a musical instrument is another remark-
able illustration of the effect of repetition in strengthening
associations, in rendering those sequences, which, at first, are
slow, and difficult, afterwards, rapid, and easy. At first, the
learner, after thinking of each successive note, as it stands in
his book, has each time to look out with care for the key or the
string which he is to touch, and the finger he is to touch it with,
and is every moment committing mistakes. Repetition is well
known to be the only means of overcoming these difficulties.
As the repetition goes on, the sight of the note, or even the idea
of the note, becomes associated with the place of the key or the
string; and that of the key or the string with the proper finger.

PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND 473

The association for a time is imperfect, but at last becomes so
strong, that it is performed with the greatest rapidity, without
an effort, and almost without consciousness.

In few cases is the strength of association, derived from repe-
tition, more worthy of attention, than in performing arithme-
tic. All men, whose practice is not great, find the addition of a
long column of numbers, tedious, and the accuracy of the oper-
ation, by no means certain. Till a man has had considerable
practice, there are few acts of the mind more toilsome. The
reason is, that the names of the numbers, which correspond to
the different steps, do not readily occur; that is, are not
strongly associated with the names which precede them. Thus,
7 added to 5, make 12; but the antecedent, 7 added to 5, is not
strongly associated with the consequent 12, in the mind of the
learner, and he has to wait and search till the name occurs.
Thus, again, 12 and 7 make 19; 19 and 8 make 27, and so on to
any amount; but if the practice of the performer has been small,
the association in each instance is imperfect, and the process
irksome and slow. Practice, however; that is, frequency of
repetition; makes the association between each of these antece-
dents and its proper consequent so perfect, that no sooner is the
one conceived than the other is conceived, and an expert arith-
metician can tell the amount of a long column of figures, with a
rapidity, which seems almost miraculous to the man whose
faculty of numeration is of the ordinary standard.

8. Where two or more ideas have been often repeated to-
gether, and the association has become very strong, they
sometimes spring up in such close combination as not to be
distinguishable. Some cases of sensation are analogous. For
example; when a wheel, on the seven parts of which the seven
prismatic colours are respectively painted, is made to revolve
rapidly, it appears not of seven colours, but of one uniform
colour, white. By the rapidity of the succession, the several
sensations cease to be distinguishable; they run, as it were,
together, and a new sensation, compounded of all the seven,
but apparently a simple one, is the result. Ideas, also, which
have been so often conjoined, that whenever one exists in the

474 JAMES MILL

mind, the others immediately exist along with it, seem to run
into one another, to coalesce, as‘it were, and out of many to
form one idea; which idea, however in reality complex, appears
to be no less simple, than any one of those of which it is com-
pounded.

The word gold, for example, or the word iron, appears to
express as simple an idea, as the word colour, or the word
sound. Yet it is immediately seen, that the idea of each of those
metals is made up of the separate ideas of several sensations;
colour, hardness, extension, weight. Those ideas, however,
present themselves in such intimate union, that they are con-
stantly spoken of as one, not many. We say, our idea of iron,
our idea of gold; and it is only with an effort that reflecting
men perform the decomposition.

The idea expressed by the term weight, appears so perfectly
_ simple, that he is a good metaphysician, who can trace its com-
position. Yet it involves, of course, the idea of resistance,
which we have shewn above to be compounded, and to involve
the feeling attendant upon the contraction of muscles; and the
feeling, or feelings, denominated Will; it involves the idea, not
of resistance simply, but of resistance in a particular direction;
the idea of direction; therefore, is included in it, and in that are
involved the ideas of extension, and of place and motion, some
of the most complicated phenomena of the human mind.

The ideas of hardness and extension have been so uniformly
regarded as simple, that the greatest metaphysicians have set
them down as the copies of simple sensations of touch. Hartley
and Darwin, were, I believe, the first who thought of assigning
to them a different origin.

We call a thing hard, because it resists compression, or sepa-
ration of parts; that is, because to compress it, or separate it
into parts, what we call muscular force is required. The idea,
then, of muscular action, and of all the feelings which go to it,
are involved in the idea of hardness.

The idea of extension is derived from the muscular feelings in
what we call the motion of parts of our own bodies; as for exam-
ple, the hands. I move my hand along a line; I have certain

PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND 475

sensations; on account of these sensations, I call the line long,
or extended. The idea of lines in the direction of length, breadth,
and thickness, constitutes the general idea of extension. In the
idea of extension, there are included three of the most complex
of our ideas; motion; time, which is included in motion; and
space, which is included in direction. We are not yet prepared
to explain the simple ideas which compose the very complex
ideas, of motion, space, and time; it is enough at present to
have shewn, that in the idea of extension, which appears so very
simple, a great number of ideas are nevertheless included; and
that this is a case of that combination of ideas in the higher
degrees of association, in which the simple ideas are so inti-
mately blended, as to have the appearance, not of a complex,
but of a simple idea.

It is to this great law of association, that we trace the forma-
tion of our ideas of what we call external objects; that is, the
ideas of a certain number of sensations, received together so
frequently that they coalesce as it were, and are spoken of
under the idea of unity. Hence, what we call the idea of a tree,
the idea of a stone, the idea of a horse, the idea of a man.

In using the names, tree, horse, man, the names of what I
call objects, I am referring, and can be referring, only to my
own sensations; in fact, therefore, only naming a certain num-
ber of sensations, regarded as in a particular state of combina-
tion; that is, concomitance. Particular sensations of sight, of
touch, of the muscles, are the sensations, to the ideas of which,
colour, extension, roughness, hardness, smoothness, taste,
smell, so coalescing as to appear one idea, I give the name, idea
of a tree.

To this case of high association, this blending together of
many ideas, in so close a combination that they appear not
many ideas, but one idea, we owe, as I shall afterwards more
fully explain, the power of classification, and all the advan-
tages of language. It is obviously, therefore, of the greatest
moment, that this important phenomenon should be well
understood. .

9. Some ideas are by frequency and strength of association

476 "JAMES MILL

so closely combined, that they cannot be separated. If one
exists, the others exist along with it, in spite of whatever effort
we make to disjoin them.

For example; it is not in our power to think of colour, with-
out thinking of extension; or of solidity, without figure. We
have seen colour constantly in combination with extension,
spread as it were, upon a surface. We have never seen it except
in this connection. Colour and extension have been invariably
conjoined. The idea of colour, therefore, uniformly comes into
the mind, bringing that of extension along with it; and so
close is the association, that it is not in our power to dissolve
it. We cannot, if we will, think of colour, but in combination
with extension, The one idea calls up the other, and retains
it, so long as the other is retained.

This great law of our nature is illustrated in a manner
equally striking, by the connection between the ideas of solidity
and figure. We never have the sensations from which the idea
of solidity is derived, but in conjunction with the sensations
whence the idea of figure is derived. If we handle anything
solid, it is always either round, square, or of some other form.
The ideas correspond with the sensations. If the idea of solidity
rises, that of figure rises along with it. The idea of figure which
rises, is, of course, more obscure than that of extension; be-
cause, figures being innumerable, the general idea is exceed-
ingly complex, and hence, of necessity, obscure. But, such as it
is, the idea of figure is always present when that of solidity is
present; nor can we, by any effort, think of the one without
thinking of the other at the same time.

Of all the cases of this important law of association, there is
none more extraordinary than what some philosophers have
called, the acquired perceptions of sight.

When I lift my eyes from the paper on which I am writing,
I see the chairs, and tables, and walls of my room, each of its
proper shape, and at its proper distance. I see, from my win-
dow, trees, and meadows, and horses, and oxen, and distant
hills. I see each of its proper size, of its proper form, and at its
proper distance; and these particulars appear as immediate

PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND 477

informations of the eye, as the colours which I see by means of
it.

Yet, philosophy has ascertained, that we derive nothing from
the eye whatever, but sensations of colour; that the idea of
extension, in which size, and form, and distance are included, is
derived from sensations, not in the eye, but in the muscular
part of our frame. How, then, is it, that we receive accurate -
information, by the eye, of size, and shape, and distance? By
association merely.

The colours upon a body are different, according to its figure,
its distance, and its size. But the sensations of colour, and what
we may here, for brevity, call the sensations of extension, of
figure, of distance, have been so often united, felt in conjunc-
tion, that the sensation of the colour is never experienced with-
out raising the ideas of the extension, the figure, the distance,
in such intimate union with it, that they not only cannot be
separated, but are actually supposed to be seen. The sight, as
it is called, of figure, or distance, appearing, as it does, a simple
sensation, is in reality a complex state of consciousness; a
sequence, in which the antecedent, a sensation of colour, and
the consequent, a number of ideas, are so closely combined by
association, that they appear not one idea, but one sensation.

- Some persons, by the folly of those about them, in early life,
have formed associations between the sound of thunder, and
danger to their lives. They are accordingly in a state of agita-
tion during a thunder storm. The sound of the thunder calls up
the idea of danger, and no effort they can make, no reasoning
they can use with themselves, to show how small the chance
that they will be harmed, empowers them to dissolve the spell,
to break the association, and deliver themselves from the tor-
menting idea, while the sensation or the expectation of it
remains.

Another very familiar illustration may be adduced. Some
persons have what is called an antipathy to a spider, a toad, or
a rat. These feelings generally originate in some early fright.
The idea of danger has been on some occasion so intensely
excited along with the touch or sight of the animal, and hence

478 JAMES MILL

the association so strongly formed, that it cannot be dissolved.
The sensation, in spite of them, excites the idea, and produces
the uneasiness which the idea imports.

The following of one idea after another idea, or after a sensa-
tion, so certainly that we cannot prevent the combination, nor
avoid having the consequent feeling as often as we have the
antecedent, is a law of association, the operation of which we
shall afterwards find to be extensive, and bearing a principal
part in some of the most important phenomena of the human
mind.

As there are some ideas so intimately blended by association,
that it is not in our power to separate them; there seem to be
others, which it is not in our power to combine. Dr. Brown, in
exposing some errors of his predecessors, with respect to the
acquired perceptions of sight, observes: “I cannot blend my
notions of the two surfaces, a plane, and a convex, as one sur-
face, both plane and convex, more than I can think of a whole
which is less than a fraction of itself, or a square of which the
sides are not equal.” The case, here, appears to be, that a
strong association excludes whatever is opposite to it. Icannot
associate the two ideas of assafcetida, and the taste of sugar.
Why? Because the idea of assafcetida is so strongly associated
with the idea of another taste, that the idea of that other
taste rises in combination with the idea of assafoetida, and of
course the idea of sugar does not rise. I have one idea associ-
ated with the word pain. Why can I not associate pleasure
with the word pain? Because another indissoluble association
springs up, and excludes it. This is, therefore, only a case of
indissoluble association; but one of much importance, as we
shall find when we come to the exposition of some of the more
complicated of our mental phenomena.

10. It not unfrequently happens in our associated feelings,
that the antecedent is of no importance farther than it intro-
duces the consequent. In these cases, the consequent absorbs
all the attention, and the antecedent is instantly forgotten. Of
this a very intelligible illustration is afforded by what happens
in ordinary discourse. A friend arrives from a distant country,

PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND 479

and brings me the first intelligence of the last illness, the last
words, the last acts, and death of my son. The sound of the
voice, the articulation of every word, makes its sensation in my
ear; but it is to the ideas that my attention flies. It is my son
that is before me, suffering, acting, speaking, dying. The
words which have introduced the ideas, and kindled the affec-
tions, have been as little heeded, as the respiration which has
been accelerated, while the ideas were received.

It is important in respect to this case of association to
remark, that there are large classes of our sensations, such as
many of those in the alimentary duct, and many in the nervous
and vascular systems, which serve, as antecedents, to introduce
ideas, as consequents; but as the consequents are far more
interesting than themselves, and immediately absorb the atten-
tion, the antecedents are habitually overlooked; and though
they exercise, by the trains which they introduce, a great influ-
ence on our happiness or misery, they themselves are generally
wholly unknown.

That there are connections between our ideas and certain
states of the internal organs, is proved by many familiar in-
stances. Thus, anxiety, in most people, disorders the digestion.
It is no wonder, then, that the internal feelings which accom-
pany indigestion, should excite the ideas which prevail in a
state of anxiety. Fear, in most people, accelerates, in a remark-
able manner, the vermicular motion of the intestines. There is
an association, therefore, between certain states of the intes-
tines, and terrible ideas; and this is sufficiently confirmed by
the horrible dreams to which men are subject from indigestion;
and the hypochondria, more or less afflicting, which almost
always accompanies certain morbid states of the digestive
organs. The grateful food which excites pleasurable sensations
in the mouth, continues them in the stomach; and, as pleasures
excite ideas of their causes, and these of similar causes, and
causes excite ideas of their effects, and so on, trains of pleas-
urable ideas take their origin from pleasurable sensations in
the stomach. Uneasy sensations in the stomach, produce
analogous effects. Disagreeable sensations are associated with

‘480 JAMES MILL

disagreeable circumstances; a train is introduced, in which, one
painful idea following another, combinations, to the last degree
afflictive, are sometimes introduced, and the sufferer is alto-
gether overwhelmed by dismal associations.

Tn illustration of the fact, that sensations and ideas, which
are essential to some of the most important operations of our
minds, serve only as antecedents to more important conse-
quents, and are themselves so habitually overlooked, that their
existence is unknown, we may recur to the remarkable case
which we have just explained, of the ideas introduced by the
sensations of sight. The minute gradations of colour, which
accompany varieties of extension, figure, and distance, are
insignificant. The figure, the size, the distance, themselves, on
the other hand, are matters of the greatest importance. The
first having introduced the last, their work is done. The conse-
quents remain the sole objects of attention, the antecedents are
forgotten; in the present instance, not completely; in other
instances, so completely, that they cannot be recognized.

11. Mr. Hume, and after him other philosophers, have said
that our ideas are associated according to three principles;
Contiguity in time and place, Causation, and Resemblance.
The Contiguity in time and place, must mean, that of the sen-
sations; and so far it is affirmed, that the order of the ideas fol-
lows that of the sensations. Contiguity of two sensations in
time, means the successive order. Contiguity of two sensations
in place, means the synchronous order. We have explained the
mode in which ideas are associated, in the synchronous, as well
as the successive order, and have traced the principle of con-
tiguity to its proper source.

, Causation, the second of Mr. Hume’s principles, is the same
with contiguity in time, or the order of succession. Causation
is only a name for the order established between an antecedent
and a consequent; that is, the established or constant antece-
dence of the one, and consequence of the other. Resemblance
only remains, as an alleged principle of association, and it is
necessary to inquire whether it is included in the laws which
have been above expounded. I believe it will be found that we

PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND 481

are accustomed to see like things together. When we see a tree,
we generally see more trees than one; when we see an ox, we
generally see more oxen than one; a sheep, more sheep than
one; a man, more men than one. From this observation, I
think, we may refer resemblance to the law of frequency, of
which it seems to form only a particular case. |

Mr. Hume makes contrast a principle of association, but not
a separate one, as he thinks it is compounded of Resemblance
and Causation. It is not necessary for us to show that this is an
unsatisfactory account of contrast. It is only necessary to
observe, that, as a case of association, it is not distinct from
those which we have above explained.

A dwarf suggests the idea of a giant. How? We call a dwarf
a dwarf, because he departs from a certain standard. We calla
giant a giant, because he departs from the same standard. This
is a case, therefore, of resemblance, that is, of frequency.

Pain is said to make us think of pleasure; and this is con-
sidered a case of association by contrast. There is no doubt
that pain makes us think of relief from it; because they have
been conjoined, and the great vividness of the sensations makes
the association strong. Relief from pain is a species of pleasure;
and one pleasure leads to think of another, from the resem-
blance. This is a compound case, therefore, of vividness and
frequency. All other cases of contrast, I believe, may be ex-
pounded in a similar manner.

I have not thought it necessary to be tedious in expounding
the observations which I have thus stated; for whether the
reader supposes that resemblance is, or is not, an original prin-
ciple of association, will not affect our future investigations.

12. Not only do simple ideas, by strong association, run
together, and form complex ideas: but a complex idea, when
the simple ideas which compose it have become so consolidated
that it always appears as one, is capable of entering into com-
binations with other ideas, both simple and complex. Thus two
complex ideas may be united together, by a strong association,
and coalesce into one, in the same manner as two or more sim-
ple ideas coalesce into one. This union of two complex ideas

482 JAMES MILL

into one, Dr. Hartley has called a duplex idea. Two also of
these duplex, or doubly compounded ideas, may unite into
one; and these again into other compounds, without end. It is
hardly necessary to mention, that as two complex ideas unite to
form a duplex one, not only two, but more than two may so
unite; and what he calls a duplex idea may be compounded of
two, three, four, or any number of complex ideas.

Some of the most familiar objects with which we are ac-
quainted furnish instances of these unions of complex and
duplex ideas.

Brick is one complex idea, mortar is another complex idea;
these ideas, with ideas of position and quantity, compose my
idea of a wall. My idea of a plank is a complex idea, my idea of
a rafter is a complex idea, my idea of a nail is a complex idea.

These, united with the same ideas of position and quantity,
compose my duplex idea of a floor. In the same manner my
complex idea of glass, and wood, and others, compose my
duplex idea of a window; and these duplex ideas, united to-
gether, compose my idea of a house, which is made up of vari-
ous duplex ideas. How many complex, or duplex ideas, are all
united in the idea of furniture? How many more in the idea of
merchandise? Now many more in the idea called Every
Thing? ,

ALEXANDER BAIN
(1818-1903)
THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT#*

THE INTELLECT

WE now proceed to view the Intellect, or the thinking func-
tion of the mind. The various faculties known as Memory,
Judgment, Abstraction, Reason, Imagination, — are modes or
varieties of Intellect. Although we can hardly ever exert this
portion of our mental system in separation from the other ele-
ments of mind — Feeling and Volition, yet scientific method
requires it to be described apart.

The primary, or fundamental attributes of Thought, or In-
telligence, have been already stated to be, Consciousness of
Difference, Consciousness of Agreement, and Retentiveness. The
exposition of the Intellect will consist in tracing out the work-
ings of these several attributes; the previous book containing
the enumeration of all that we at first have to discriminate,
identify, and retain.

(x.) The first and most fundamental property is the Con-
sciousness of Difference, or DISCRIMINATION. To be distinc-
tively affected by two or more successive impressions is the
most general fact of consciousness. Weare never conscious at
all without experiencing transition or change. (This has been
called the Law of Relativity.) When the mental outburst is
characterized mainly by pleasure or pain, we are said to be
under a state of feeling. When the prominent circumstance is
discrimination of the two distinct modes of the transition, we
are occupied intellectually. There are many transitions that
give little or no feeling in the sense of pleasure or pain, and that
are attended to as transitions, in other words, as Differences.

* London, 1855; 4th ed., 1894.

484 ALEXANDER BAIN

In states of enjoyment or suffering, we cannot be strictly devoid
of the consciousness of difference; but we abstain from the ex-
ercise of the discriminating (and the identifying) function, and
follow out the consequences of a state of feeling as such, these
being to husband the pleasure and abate the pain, by voluntary
actions.

° e e ° e e °

(2.) The fundamental property of Intellect, named RETEN-
TIVENESS, has two aspects, or degrees.

First. The persistence or continuance of mental impressions,
after the withdrawal of the external agent. When the ear is
struck by a sonorous wave, we have a sensation of sound, but
the mental excitement does not die away because the sound
ceases; there is a certain continuing effect, generally much
feebler, but varying greatly according to circumstances, and on
some occasions quite equal to the effect of the actual sensation.
In consequence of this property, our mental excitement, due
to external causes, may greatly outlast the causes themselves;
we are enabled to go on living a life in ideas, in addition to the
life in actualities.

But this is not all. We have, secondly, the power of recover-
ing, or reviving, under the form of ideas, past or extinct sensa-
tions and feeling of all kinds, without the originals, and by
mental agencies alone.

After the impression of a sound has ceased entirely, and the
mind has been occupied with other things, there is a possibility
of recovering from temporary oblivion the idea, or mental
effect, without reproducing the actual sound. We remember,
or bring back to mind, sights, and sounds, and thoughts, that
have not been experienced for months or years. This implies a
still higher mode of retentiveness than the previous fact; it
supposes that something has been engrained in the mental
structure; that an effect has been produced of a kind that suc-
ceeding impressions have not been able to blot out. Now, one
- medium of the restoration to consciousness of a particular past
state, is the actual presence of some impression that had often

>

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT 485

occurred im company with that state. Thus we are reminded of
a name — as ship, star, tree — by seeing the thing; the previous
concurrence of name and thing has led to a mental companion-
ship between the two. Impressions that have frequently ac-
companied one another in the mind grow together, so as to
become at last almost inseparable: we cannot have one without
a disposition or prompting to renew all the rest. This is the
highest form of the Retentive, or plastic, property of the mind.
It will be exemplified at length under the title of Association by
Contiguity.

(3.) The remaining property of Intellect is consciousness of
AGREEMENT. Besides the consciousness of difference, the mind
is also affected by agreement rising out of partial difference.
The continuance of the same impression produces no effect,
but after experiencing a certain impression and passing away
from it to something else, the recurrence of the first causes a
certain shock or start, — the shock of recognition; which is
all the greater according as the circumstances of the present
and of the past occurrence are different. Change produces one
effect, the effect called discrimination; Similarity in the midst
of change produces a new and distinct effect; and these are the
two modes of intellectual stimulation, the two constituents of
knowledge. When we see in the child the features of the man,
we are struck by agreement in the midst of difference.

This power of recognition, identification, or discovery of
likeness in unlikeness, is another means of bringing to mind
past ideas; and is spoken of as the Associating, or Reproductive
principle of SmumLarity. We are as often reminded of things by
their resemblance to something present, as by their previous
proximity to what isnowin the view. Contiguity and Similarity
express two great principles or forces of mental reproduction;
they are distinct powers of the mind, varying in degree among
individuals — the one sometimes preponderating, and some-
times the other. The first governs Acquisition, the second
Invention.

The commonly recognized intellectual faculties, enumerated
by Psychologists with much discrepancy, in so far as they do

486 ALEXANDER BAIN

not involve Feeling and Volition, are resolvable into these
three primitive properties of Intellect — Discrimination, Re-
tention, Similarity. The faculty called Memory is almost
exclusively founded in the Retentive power, although some-
times aided by Similarity. The processes of Reason and
Abstraction involve Similarity chiefly; there being in both the
identification of resembling things. What is termed Judgment
may consist in Discrimination on the one hand, or in the Sense
of Agreement on the other: we determine two or more things
either to differ or to agree. It is impossible to find any case of
Judging that does not, in the last resort, mean one or other of
these two essential activities of the intellect. Lastly, Imagina-
tion is a product of all the three fundamentals of our intelli-
gence, with the addition of an element of Emotion.

CHAPTER I. RETENTIVENESS — LAW OF
CONTIGUITY

1. Tuts principle is the basis of Memory, Habit, and the
Acquired Powers in general. Writers on Mental Science have
described it under various names. Sir William Hamilton terms
it the law of ‘‘Redintegration,” regarding it as the principle
whereby one part of a whole brings up the other parts, as when
the first words of a quotation recall the remainder, or one house
in a street suggests the succeeding ones. The associating links
called Order in Time, Order in Place, and Cause and Effect,
are all included under it. We might also name it the law of
Association proper, of Adhesion, Mental Adhesiveness, or Ac-
quisition.

The following is a general statement of this mode of mental
reproduction.

Actions, Sensations, and States of Feeling, occurring to-
gether or in close succession, tend to grow together, or
cohere, in such a way that, when any one of them is after-
wards presented to the mind, the others are apt to be
brought up in idea.

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT 487

There are various circumstances or conditions that regulate
and modify the operation of this principle, so as to render the
adhesive growth more or less rapid and secure. These will be
best brought out by degrees in the course of the exposition. As
a general rule, Repetition is necessary in order to render co-
herent in the mind a train or aggregate of images, as, for exam-
ple, the successive aspects of a panorama, with a sufficient
degree of force to make one suggest the others at an after period.
The precise degree of repetition needed depends on a variety of
causes, the quality of the individual mind being one.

4. In regard to the conditions that regulate the pace of our
various acquisitions, some are general, others are special to
individual kinds.

The general conditions are these: —

I. A certain amount of Continuance, or Repetition of the
matter to be learned, is requisite: and the greater the continu-
ance, or the more frequent the repetition, the greater the pro-
gress of the learner. Deficiency in the other conditions has to
be made up by a protracted iteration.

II. The Concentration of the mind is an important condi-
tion. This means physically that the forces of the nevous sys-
tem are strongly engaged upon the particular act, which is pos-
sible only by keeping the attention from wandering to other
things. It is well known that distraction of mind is a bar to
acquirement.

There are various modes of attaining the desired concentra-
tion. It is a voluntary act, prompted by present and by future
pleasures and pains.

The greatest of all motives to concentration is a present
enjoyment of the work in hand. Any exercise possessing a
special charm detains us by immediate attraction; everything
else is neglected so long as the fascination lasts. This is the
inherent power of the will in its immediate and most efficient
manifestation — a present pleasure furthering a present action.
It explains the great influence of what is called the Taste for a
special pursuit. The taste or fascination for music, for science,
for business, — keeps the mind of the learner exclusively bent

488 ALEXANDER BAIN

upon the subject; and the pace of acquisition is proportionally
rapid.

Next to present enjoyment, is associated, or future, enjoy-
ment; as when we devote ourselves to something uninteresting
or painful in itself, but calculated to bring future gratification.
This is, generally speaking, a less urgent stimulation, as being
the influence of pleasure existing only in idea. There may,
however, be all degrees of intensity of the motive, according to
the strength of the ideal representation of the pleasure to come.
It is on this stimulation, that we go through the dry studies
necessary to a lucrative profession or a favourite object of
pursuit. The young are insufficiently actuated by prospective
pleasure, owing to their inferior ideal hold of it; and are there-
fore not powerfully moved in this way.

A third form of concentration is when present pain is made
use of to deter and withdraw the mind from causes of distrac-
tion, or matters having an intrinsically superior charm. This
is the final resort in securing the attention of the volatile
learner. It is an inferior motive, on the score of economy, but
cannot be dispensed with in early training. By an artificial
appliance, the subject is made comparatively the most attractive.
So with the use of future pains; the same allowance being made
for the difference in their character, as for pleasures existing
only in prospect.

Mere Excitement, whether as pleasure or as pain, or as
neither, is a power of intellectual concentration. An idea that
excites us very much persists in the mind, even if painful; and
the remembrance of it will be stamped in consequence. This
influence will be especially noticed, a few pages hence.

It is not uncommon, in stating the general conditions of Reten-
tiveness, or memory, to specify the vividness or intensity of an
impression; thus, we readily remember such effects as an intense
odour, a speech uttered with vehemence, a conflagration. This,
however, resolves itself into the concentration of mental and nerv-
ous force, due to the emotional excitement. Apart from the feel-
ings, an idea may be more or less distinct and clear, but is not
properly more or less intense. If an inscription is legible with ease,

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT 489

it is everything that the intellect demands; the adventitious aid of
glaring characters, as when, at a public illumination, a sentiment is
written in gas jets, is a species of excitement, securing an inordinate
amount of attention or concentration of mind.

If we compare an object sharply defined with another whose
lineaments are faded and obscure, there is a wide difference in the
hold that the two would severally take on the memory; but such
impressions differ in kind, and not simply in degree. The names
‘vivid’ and ‘intense’ are scarcely applicable except by a figure.
Without a decisive difference or contrast, the mind is not impressed
at all; everything that favours the contrast favours discrimination,
and also depth of impression. All this, however, is pre-supposed,
as a fact or property of the Discriminating function of intellect;
and is not to be repeated as appertaining to the Reientive function.

III. There appears to be specific to each individual a certain
degree of General Retentiveness, or a certain aptitude for
acquirement generally. We find a great inequality in the
progress of learners placed almost exactly in the same circum-
stances. Sometimes the difference refers only to single depart-
ments, as mechanical art, music, or language; it is then refer-
able to special and local endowments, as muscular sensibility,
the musical ear, and so forth. Often, however, the superiority
of individuals is seen in acquirement as a whole, in which form
it is better regarded as a General power of Retentiveness.

5. We shall advert, as we proceed, to the modifying circum-
stances of a local kind peculiar to each class of acquisitions.
As respects the present class, Movements, the special condi-
tions seem to be as follows: —

(x.) Bodily Strength, or mere muscular vigour, must be
regarded as favouring acquisition. Not only is it an indication
of a large share of vitality in the muscles, which is likely to
attend their acquired aptitudes; it also qualifies for enduring,
without fatigue, a great amount of continuance or practice of
the operations required.

(2.) Distinct from mere muscular power is Spontaneity, or
the active temperament; meaning the natural proneness to
copious muscular activity. This must be regarded as a pro-

490 ALEXANDER BAIN

perty, not of the muscular tissue, but of the nerve-centres on
the active side of the brain. Hence there is a likelihood, if not a
certainty, that the endowment is accompanied with a greater
facility in the association of movements. Observation accords
with the view. It is usually men of abounding natural activity
that make adroit mechanics, good sportsmen, and able com-
batants.

(3.) Of still greater importance is Muscular Delicacy, or
Discrimination, which is not necessarily involved in either of
the foregoing heads, although more allied to the second. The
power of discriminating nice shades of muscular movement is
at the foundation of muscular expertness in every mode. We
have abundant proof that, wherever delicacy of discrimination
exists, there exists also a special retentiveness of that class of
impressions. The physical groundwork of the property is the
abundance of the nerve elements — fibres and corpuscles — out
of which also must spring the capacity for varied groupings and
fixed associations.

Physical vigour in general, and those modes of it that are the
counterparts of mental vigour in particular, must be reckoned
among the conditions of Retentiveness. Other things being the
same, acquisition is most rapid in health, and in the nourished and
fresh condition of all the organs. When the forces of the system run
strongly to the nervous system in general, there is a natural exuber-
ance of all the mental manifestations; and energy of mind is then
compatible with much bodily feebleness, yet not with any circum-
stances that restrict the nourishment of the brain.

CHAPTER II. AGREEMENT — LAW OF SIMILARITY

Present Actions, Sensations, Thoughts, or Emotions
tend to revive their L1kE among previous Impres-
sions, or States.

1. CONTIGUITY joins together things that occur together, or
. that are, by any circumstance, presented to the mind at the
same time; as when we associate heat with light, a falling body

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT 491

with a concussion. But, in addition to this link of reproductive
connexion, we find that one thing will, by virtue of Similarity,
recall another separated frome it in time, as when a portrait recalls
the original.

The second fundamental property of Intellect, termed Con-
sciousness of Agreement, or Similarity, is a great: power of
mental reproduction, or a means of recovering past mental
states. It was noticed by Aristotle as one of the links in the
succession of our thoughts.

As regards our knowledge, or perception, of things, the conscious-
ness of Agreement is second only to Discrimination, or the con-
sciousness of Difference. When we know a thing, we do so by its
differences and its agreements. Our full knowledge of red, is our
having contrasted it with all other colours, and our having compared
it with itself and with its various shades. Our knowledge of a chair
is made up of our experiences of the distinction between it and other
articles of furniture, &c.,and of theagreement between it and other
chairs. Both modes are involved in a complete act of cognition, and
nothing else (except, of course, the Retentiveness implied in the one
and the other) is necessary. Our knowledge of man is the sum of the
points of contrast between a man and all other things, and the sum
of the points of identity on comparing men with one another. Our
increase in knowledge is constantly proceeding in both directions:
we note new differences, and also new agreements, among our
experiences, object and subject. We do not begin to be conscious
till we have the shock of difference; and we cannot make that
analysis of our conscious states, called the recognition of plurality,
combination, or complication, till we discover agreements, and refer
each part of the impression to its like among our previous impres-
sions. To perceive is, properly, to recognize, or identify.

2. Some preliminary explanation of the kind of relationship
subsisting between the two principles of Contiguity and Simi-
larity, is requisite in order to guard against mistakes, and
especially to prevent misapprehension, as to the separate exist-
ence of the two modes of action in the mental framework.
When the cohesive link between any two contiguous actions,
or images, is confirmed by a mew occurrence or repetition,

492 ALEXANDER BAIN

obviously the present impression must revive the sum total of
the past impressions, or reinstate the whole mental condition
left on the occasion immediately preceding. Thus, if I am dis-
ciplining myself in the act of drawing a round figure with my
hand any one present effort must recall the state of the mus-
cular and nervous action, or the precise bent acquired at theend
of the previous effort, while that effort had to reinstate the con-
dition at the end of the one preceding, and so on. It is only in
this.way that repetition can be of any avail in confirming a
physical habit, or in forming an intellectual aggregate. But
this reinstatement of a former condition by a present act of the
same kind, is really and truly a case of the operation of the
associating principle of similarity, or of like recalling like; and
we here plainly see, that without such recall, the adhesion of
contiguous things would be impossible. Hence it would appear,
that all through the exposition of Contiguity, the principle of
Similarity has been tacitly assumed; we have everywhere taken
for granted, that a present occurrence of any object to the view
recalls the total impression made by all the previous occur-
rences, and adds its own effect to that total.

But, by thus tacitly assuming the power of anything present
to reinstate the past impressions of the same thing, we restrict
ourselves to those cases where the reinstatement is sure and
certain, in fact to cases of absolute identity of the present and
past. Such is the nature of the instances dwelt upon in the pre-
vious chapter: in all of them, the new movement, or the new
image, was supposed precisely identical with the old, and went
simply to reinstate and to deepen an impression already made.
We must, however, now pass beyond this field of examples, and
enter upon a new class where the identity is only partial, and is
on that account liable to be missed; where the restoration,
instead of being sure, is doubtful; and where, moreover, the
reinstatement serves higher purposes than the mere iteration
and deepening of the impression already made. In all mental
restorations whatsoever, both Contiguity and Similarity are at
work; in one class, the question is as to the sufficiency of the
contiguous bond, the similarity being sure; in another class, the

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT 493

question is as to the sufficiency of the attractive force of the
likeness, the contiguous adhesiveness being believed certain.
If I chance to meet with a person I have formerly seen, and
endeavour to remember his name, it will depend upon the
goodness of a cohesive link whether or not I succeed; there will
be no difficulty in my recalling the past impression of his per-
sonal appearance through the force of the present impression;
but having recalled the full total of the past impressions, I may
not be able to recover the accompaniment of the name; the con-
tiguity may be at fault, although the similarity works its per-
fect work of restoring to me my previous conception of the per-
sonal aspect. If, on the other hand, I see a man on the street,
and if I have formerly seen a portrait of that man, it is a ques-
tion whether the living reality shall recall the portrait; the
doubt hangs not upon the contiguity, or coherence of the parts
and surroundings of the picture, if it could be recovered, but
upon the chance of its being recovered. Where things are
identical, the operation of similarity, in making the present
case revive the former ones, is so certain that it is not even
mentioned; we talk of the goodness of the cohesive bond be-
tween the revived part and its accompaniments, as if contigu-
ity expressed the whole fact of the restoration. To make up for
this partiality of view, which was indispensable to a clear expo-
sition, we now embrace, with the like partial and prominent
consideration, the element that was left in a latent condition;
and allow to sink, into the latent state, the one that has
hitherto been made exclusively prominent.

3. In the perfect identity between a present and a past
impression, the past is recovered and fused with the present,
instantaneously and surely. So quick and unfaltering is the
process that we lose sight of it altogether; we are scarcely made
aware of the existence of an associating link of similarity in the
chain of sequence. When I look at the full moon, I am in-
stantly impressed with the state arising from all my former
impressions of her disc added together; so natural and neces-
sary does this restoration seem, that we rarely reflect on the
principle implied in it, namely, the power of the new stimulus

494. ALEXANDER BAIN

to set on the nervous currents, with all the energy acquired in
the course of many hundred repetitions of the same visual im-
petus. But when we pass from perfect to imperfect or partial
identity, we are more readily made aware of the existence of
this link of attraction between similars, for we find that some-
times the restoration does not take place; cases occur where we
fail to be struck with a similitude; the spark does not pass be-
tween the new currents and the old dormant ones. The failure
in reinstating the old condition by virtue of the present stimu-
lus, is, in the main, ascribable to imperfect identity. When, in
some new impression of a thing, the original form is muffled, ob-
scured, distorted, disguised, or in any way altered, it is a chance
whether or not we identify it; the amount of likeness that
remains will have a reviving power, or a certain amount of rein-
stating energy, but the points of difference or unlikeness will
operate to resist the supervention of the old state, and will tend
to revive objects like themselves. If I hear a musical air that I
have been accustomed to, the new impression revives the old as
a matter of course; but if the air is played with complex har-
monies and accompaniments, it is possible that the effect of
these additions may be to check my recognition of the piece;
the unlike circumstances may repel the reinstatement of the
old experience more powerfully than the remaining likeness
attracts it; and I may find in it no identity whatever with an
air previously known, or even identify it with something alto-
gether different. If my hold of the essential character of the
melody is but feeble, and if Iam stunned and confounded with
the new accompaniments, there is every likelihood that I shall
not experience the restoration of my past hearing of the air
intended, and consequently I shall not identify the perform-
ance.

4. The obstructives to the revival of the past through simili-
tude, may be classed under the two heads — Faintness and
Diversity. There are instances where a new impression is too
feeble to strike into the old-established track of the same impres-
sion, and to make it alive again; as when we are unable to iden-
tify the taste of a very weak solution, or to discern an object in

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT 495

twilight dimness. The most numerous and interesting cases
come, however, under the other head — Diversity, or mingled
likeness and unlikeness; as when we meet an old acquaintance
in a new dress, or in circumstances where we have never seen
the same person before. The modes of diversity are countless,
and incapable of being classified. We might, indeed, include
under diversity the other of the two heads, seeing that faintness
implies diversity of degree, if not of any other circumstance; but
I prefer considering the obstruction arising from faintness by
itself, after which we shall proceed to the larger field of exam-
ples marked by unlikeness in other respects.

5. The difficulty or facility in resuming a past mental condi-
tion, at the suggestion of a present similitude, will plainly de-
pend upon the old that the past impression has acquired; it is
much easier to revive a familiar image than an unfamiliar, by
the force of a new presentation. We shall, therefore, have to
keep this circumstance in view, among others, in the course of
our illustration of the law of Similarity.

It has to be considered how far natural character — that is,
a primitive endowment of the intellect, enters into the power
of reviving similars, or of bringing together like things in spite
of the repulsion of unlike accompaniments. There is much to
be explained in the preferences shown by different minds, in the
objects that they most readily recall to the present view; which
preferences determine varieties of character, such as the scien-
tific and the artistic minds. The explanation of these differ-
ences was carried up to a certain point under the Law of Con-
tiguity; but, if I am not mistaken, there is still a portion
referable to the existence of various modes and degrees of sus-
ceptibility to the force of Similarity. From all that I have been
able to observe, the two energies of contiguous adhesion, and of
attraction of similars, do not rise and fall together in the char-
acter; we may have one feeble and the other strong, in all pro-
portions and degrees of adjustment. I believe, moreover, that
there is such a thing as an energetic power of recognizing simi-
larity in general, and that this is productive of remarkable con-
sequences. Whether I shall be able to impress these convictions

496 ALEXANDER BAIN

upon my readers, will depend upon the success of the detailed
exposition of this noted peculiarity of our intellectual nature.

CHAPTER III. COMPOUND ASSOCIATION

1. HirHeRTO we have restricted our attention to single
threads or indivisible links of association, whether of Contig-
uity or Similarity. It remains for us to consider the case where
several threads, or a Plurality of links or bonds of connexion,
unite in reviving some previous thought or mental state. No
new principle is introduced here; we have merely to note, what
seems an almost unavoidable effect of the combined action, that
the reinstatement is thereby made more easy and certain. As-
sociations that are individually too weak, to operate the revival
of a past idea, may succeed by acting together; and there is
thus opened up to our view a means of aiding our recollection,
or invention, when the one thread in hand is too feeble to effect ©
a desired recall. It happens in fact, that, in a very large num-
ber of our mental transitions, there is present a multiple bond
of association.

The combinations may be made up of Contiguities alone,
of Similarities alone, or of Contiguity and Similarity mixed.
Moreover, we shall find that in Emotion and in Volition there
are influences either assisting or obstructing the proper intel-
lectual forces. In the reviving of a past image or idea, it is
never unimportant, that the revival gratifies a favourite emo-
tion, or is strongly willed in the pursuit of an end. We must
endeavour to appreciate, as far as we are able, the influence of
these extra-intellectual energies within the sphere of intellect;
but, as they would rarely suffice for the reproduction of thought,
if acting apart and alone, we are led to look at them chiefly as
modifying the effects of the strictly intellectual forces, or as
combining elements in the composition of associations.

The general law may be stated as follows: —

Past actions, sensations, thoughts, or emotions, are re-
called more easily, when associated either through con-
tiguity or through similarity, with more than one present
object or impression.

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT 497

COMPOSITION OF CONTIGUITIES

2. We begin with the composition of contiguities. Instances
might be cited under all the heads of the first chapter; but a
less profuse selection will suffice. There will, however, be a
gain in clearness by taking Conjunctions and Successions
separately.

Conjunctions. — For a simple example of a compound con-
junction, we may suppose a person smelling a liquid and iden-
tifying the smell as something felt before, but unable to recall
to mind the material causing it. Here the bond between an
odour and the odorous substance is too feeble for reproducing
the idea or the name of the substance. Suppose farther that
the person could taste the liquid without feeling the odour, and
that in the taste he could recognize a former taste, but could
not remember the thing. If, in these circumstances, the con-
currence of the two present sensations of taste and smell
brought the substance to the recollection, we should have a
true instance of composite association. If one of the two links
is fully equal to the restoring effect, there is no case under the
present law; in order to constitute a proper example, each
should be insufficient when acting singly. Although there can
be no doubt as to the fact of such revivals, we might easily sup-
pose it otherwise. Combination is not strength under all cir-
cumstances. A gallon of water at 40°, cannot yield a spoonful
at 41°. Ten thousand commonplace intellects would not
make one genius, under any system of co-operation. The mul-
tiplication of unaided eyes could never equal the vision of one
person with a telescope, or a microscope.

We have seen that the complex wholes around us in the world,
are held together in the recollection by the adhesive force of
Contiguity; such objects as a tree, a human figure, a scene in
nature, cannot continue in the mind, or be revived as ideas,
until frequent repetition has made all the parts coherent. After
the requisite iteration, a complex object, such as a rural village,
may be revived by the presence of a single portion of it, as some
street, or building, or marked locality. But, if the village is one

498 ALEXANDER BAIN

not very well known, that is, if the notion of it is not very firmly
aggregated in the mind, the traveller just entering may be not
ready to identify it by the first thing that strikes him; he may
require to go on till several other objects come in view, when
probably their joint impression will be able to bring up the
whole, in other words, will remind him what village he is now
entering.

So in regarding objects as concretes, or combinations of many
distinct qualities, — an orange, for example, which affects all
the senses, — a fixing process makes the different sensations
hold together in one complex idea. Here, too, there is room for
the joint action of associating links in recalling an image to the
mind. I have already imagined a case of this description, where
the united action of smell and of taste was supposed to revive
the idea of the concrete object causing them, either being of
itself insufficient for the purpose.

5. Successions. — I have dwelt at length, in a previous chap-
ter, on the contiguous association of successions of various
kinds. Here, too, in the circumstance of imperfect adhesion,
the recovery may be due to a composite action. I have wit-
nessed a series of events, and these are, in consequence, associ-
ated in my mind. In endeavouring to recall the series from the
commencement, a link fails, until some other association, such
as place, or person, contributes an assisting thread.

There is one succession that contains the whole of our experi-
ence, that is, the Order of Time, or the sequence of events in
each one’s own history. If all the minutiz of this succession
were to cohere perfectly in the mind, everything that we have
ever done, seen, or been cognizant of, could be recovered by
means of it. But although all the larger transactions, and the
more impressive scenes, of our personal history, are linked in
this order with a sufficient firmness, yet for smaller incidents
the bond is too weak. I cannot remember fully my yesterday’s
train of thoughts; nor repeat verbatim an address of five
minutes’ length, whether spoken or heard. Things related in
the order of time are, strictly speaking, experienced only once,
and we usually require repetition to fix any mental train. It

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT 499

constantly happens, therefore, that we are in search of some
reinforcing connexion to help us in recovering the stream of
events, as they occurred in the order of time. We seek for other
conjunctions and successions to enable us to recommence after
every break.

Experience teaches us, that the only way of making up a
defective adhesion is to compass in our minds some other con-
nexion, or to get at the missing object through a new door. The
inability to recollect the next occurring particular of a train
that we are in want of, stimulates a great effort of volition, and
the true course for the mind to take is to get upon some chain
or current that is likely to cross the line of the first near the
break.

At every moment of life, each person stands immersed in a
complicated scene, and each object of this scene may become
a starting point for a train of recollections. All the internal
feelings of the body; everything that surrounds us and strikes
the eye, ear, touch, taste, or smell; all the ideas, emotions, and
purposes occupying the mind; — these form so many begin-
nings of trains of association passing far away into the remot-
est regions of recollection and thought; and we have it in our
power to stop and change the direction as often as we please.
From some one of these present things, we must commence our
outgoings towards the absent and the distant, whether treading
in single routes, or introducing composite action.

6. Language. — The recall of names by things, and of things
by names, gives special occasion for bringing in additional links
to aid a feeble tie. When we have forgotten the name of a per-
son, or of an object, we are under the necessity of referring back
to the situation and circumstances where we have heard the
name, to see if any other bond of connexion will spring up.
Often we are unable, at the moment, to recover the lost sound
by any means; but, afterwards, an auxiliary circumstance
crosses the view, and the revival is effected.

Many of our recollections, thoughts, conceptions, and imag-
inings, are an inextricable mixture of language and ideas of
things. The notions that we acquire through oral instruction,

500 ALEXANDER BAIN

or from books, are made up in part by the subject matter
purely, and in part by the phraseology that conveyed it. Thus,
my recollection of a portion of history is made up of the train of
words, with the train of historical facts and scenes, as I might
have seen them with my own eyes. So in many sciences, there
is a combination of visual or tactual notions with language.
Geometry is a compound of visible diagrams with the language
of definitions, axioms, and demonstrations. Now, in all these
cases, recollection may depend, either on the associations of
words, or on those of visual and other conceptions, or on a com-
pound of both. If I listen to a geographical description, there
is, in the first place, a train of words dropping on my ear; and,
by virtue of a perfect verbal cohesion, I might recall the whole
description and recite it to another party. In the second place,
there is a series of views of objects — of mountain, river, plain,
and forest — which I picture in my mind and retain inde-
pendently of the language used to suggest them. Were my pic-
torial adhesion strong enough, I could recall the whole of the
features in the order that I was made to conceive them, and
leave aside the language. The common case, however, is that
the recollection is effected by a union of both the threads of
cohesion; the pictorial train is assisted by the verbal, and the
verbal by the pictorial, as may happen.

COMPOSITION OF SIMILARITIES

4. The influence of the multiplication of points of likeness,
in securing the revival of a past object, is liable to no uncer-
tainty. It is only an extension of the principle maintained all
through the discussion of the law of similarity, that the greater
the similitude, and the more numerous the points of resem-
blance, the surer is the stroke of recall. If I meet a person very
like some one else I have formerly known, the probability of
my recalling this last person to view is increased, if the likeness
in face and feature is combined with similarity of dress, of
speech, of gait, or of any still more extraneous points, such as
occupation, or history. Increase of resemblance extensively,

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT sor

that is by outward connexions, has the same power as increase
of resemblance intensively, in rendering the restoration of the
past more certain. It might admit of a doubt whether four faint
links of contiguous adhesion would be equal to one strong link,
but it would be against our whole experience of the workings
of similarity, to doubt the utility of multiplying faint resem-
blances, when there was no one sufficiently powerful to effect
the revival. At the same time, we must admit that much more
is contributed to the chances of reinstatement by intensifying
one point of likeness, than by adding new ones of a faint char-
acter. By raising some single feature almost up to the point of
identity, we should do more good than could be done by scat-
tering faint and detached likenesses over the picture. This,
however, is not always in our power; and we are glad to find,
that, when the similarity, in any one particular, is too feeble
to suggest the resembling past, the existence of a plurality of
weak resemblances will be the equivalent of a single stronger
one.

On this view, I might set forth the workings of composite
similarities, from the various classes of examples gone over in
the preceding chapter. In all very complicated conjunctions,
as, for example, a landscape, there may be a multiplication of
likenesses, unable to strike singly, but, by their concurrence
suggesting a parallel scene. Hence, in endeavouring to recall
resembling things, we may proceed, as in Contiguity, by hunt-
ing out new collaterals, on the chance of increasing the amount
of similitude. and, with that, the attractive power of the pres-
ent for the absent. If I am endeavouring to recall to mind
some historic parallel to a present political situation, suppos-
ing one to exist and to have been at some former time impressed
on my mind, there may be a want of any single salient like-
ness, such as we admit to be the most effective medium of
reinstatement; and I must, therefore, go over in my mind all
the minute features of the present, to enhance, in this way,
the force of the attraction of similitude for the forgotten
parallel.

8. The case noticed at the conclusion of the preceding head,

502 ALEXANDER BAIN

namely, the combination of language with subject-matter in a
mixed recollection, is favourable to the occurrence of com-
pound similarity. If an orator has to deal with a special point,
the conduct of an individual, for example, which he wishes to
denounce by a cutting simile, his invention may be aided by
some similarity in the phrases descriptive of the case, as well as
in the features of the case itself. If one who has at a former time
read the play of Gidipus, now commences to read Lear, the
similarity is not at first apparent, but long before the conclu-
sion there will be a sufficient accumulation of features of simili-
tude, in dramatic situation and in language, to bring (Edipus to
mind without any very powerful stretch of intellectual force.
So, in scientific invention; a fact described in language has a
double power of suggestion; and if, by good luck, the fact has a
likeness to some other fact, and the description resembles the
language that accompanied that other when formerly present
to the mind, there is so much the more chance of the revival
taking place.

MIxEpD CONTIGUITY AND SIMILARITY

g. Under this head, there are several interesting examples.

If any one, in describing a storm, employ the phrase ‘a war
of elements,’ the metaphor has been brought to mind partly by
similitude, but partly also by contiguity, seeing that the com-
parison has already been made. The person that first used the
phrase came upon it by similarity; he that used it next had con-
tiguity to assist him; and, after frequent repetition, the bond
of contiguity may be so well confirmed, that the force of
similarity is entirely superseded. In this way, many things
that were originally strokes of genius, end in being efforts of
mere adhesive recollection; while, for a time previous to this
final consummation, there is a mixed effort of the two suggest-
ing forces. Hence Johnson’s remark on the poet Ogilvie, that
his poem contained what was once imagination, but in him had
come to be memory.

In all regions of intellectual exertion — industry, science,

THE SENSES AND THE INTELLECT 503

art, literature — there is a kind of ability displayed in taking
up great and original ideas and combinations, before they have
been made easy by iteration. Minds unable for the highest
efforts of origination may yet be equal to this second degree of
genius, wherein a considerable force of similarity is assisted by
a small thread of contiguity. To master a large multitude of
the discoveries of identification, a power of similarity short of
the original force that gave birth to them, is aided by the con-
tiguous bond that has grown up, during a certain number of
repetitions of each.

to. A second case is, when a similarity is struck out in cir-
cumstances such as to bring the absent object into near proxim-
ity in some contiguous train. Thus, a poet falls upon a beautiful
metaphor, while dwelling in the region where the material of the
simile occurs. In the country, rural comparisons are most
easily made; on ship-board, nautical metaphors are naturally
abundant.

If we chance to be studying by turns two different sciences
that throw much light on each other, we are in the best position
for deriving the benefit of the comparison. When we know the
most likely source of fertile similitudes for some difficult prob-
lem, we naturally keep near that source, in order that we may
be struck with the faintest gleam of likeness, through the help
of proximity. A historian of the ancient republics cultivates a
familiarity with all the living instances of the republican sys-
tem. Now that physical science is largely indebted to mathe-
matical handling, the physicist has to maintain his freshness in
mathematics. It is not safe to trust to an acquisition of old
date, however pertinacious the mind be in retaining the subject
in question. The great discoveries of identification that aston-
ish the world and open up new vistas of knowledge, have doubt-
less often been helped by thé accidental proximity of the things
made to flash together. For illustration’s sake, we might sup-
pose Newton in the act of meditating upon the planetary at-
traction, at the time that the celebrated apple fell to the ground
before his eyes; a proximity so very close would powerfully aid
in bringing on the stroke of identification.

504 ALEXANDER BAIN ;

CHAPTER IV. CONSTRUCTIVE ASSOCIATION

By means of Association, the mind has the power to form
new combinations, or aggregates, different from any that
have been presented to it in the course of experience.

1. THRouGHOUT the whole of the preceding exposition, we
have had in view the literal resuscitation, revival, or reinstate-
ment of former actions, images, emotions, and trains of thought.
No special reference has been made to the operations known by
such names as Imagination, Creation, Constructiveness, Orig-
ination; through which we are supposed to put together new
forms, or to construct images, conceptions, pictures, and
modes of working, such as we have never before had any expe-
rience of. Yet the genius of the Painter, the Poet, the Musi-
cian, and the Inventor in the arts and sciences, evidently im-
plies a process of this nature.

Under the head of Similarity, we have had to recognize a
power tending to originality and invention, as when —in virtue
of the identifying of two things lying far apart in nature —
whatever is known of the one is instantly transferred to the
other, thereby constituting a new and instructive combination
of ideas. Such was the case when Franklin’s identification of
electricity and thunder, led to the application of the Leyden jar
to explain a thunderstorm. The power of recalling like by like,
in spite of remoteness, disguise, and false lures, enters into
avery large number of inventive efforts; both in the sciences and
in the arts. But we have now to deal with constructions of a
higher order of complexity. There are discoveries that seem
nothing short of absolute creations, as the whole science of
Mathematics; while, in the Fine Arts, a frieze of the Parthe-
non, a Gothic cathedral, a Paradise Lost, are very far beyond
the highest stretches of the identifying faculty taken by itself.

Nevertheless, the intellectual forces operating in those crea-
tions, are no other than the associating forces already discussed.
The new combinations grow out of elements already possessed
by the mind, and brought to view according to the laws above
laid down.

HERBERT SPENCER
(1820-1903)

PHE PRINCIPLES? OF -PSY¥CHOLOGY *

PART II. THE INDUCTIONS OF PSYCHOLOGY
CHAPTER II. THE COMPOSITION OF MIND —

§ 64. In the last chapter we incidentally encroached on
the topic to which this chapter is to be devoted. Certain
apparently-simple feelings were shown to be compounded of
units of feeling; whence it was inferred that possibly, if not
probably, feelings of other classes are similarly compounded.
And in thus treating of the composition of feelings, we, by
implication, treated of the composition of Mind, of which feel-
ings are themselves components.

Here, however, leaving speculations about the ultimate
composition of Mind, we pass to observations on its proximate
composition. Accepting as really simple those constituents of
Mind which are not decomposable by introspection, we have
to consider what are their fundamental distinctive characters,
and what are the essential principles of arrangement among
them.

§ 65. Theproximate components of Mind are of two broadly-
contrasted kinds — Feelings and the Relations between feel-
ings. Among the members of each group there exist multitud-
inous unlikenesses, many of which are extremely strong; but
such unlikenesses are small compared with those which dis-
tinguish members of the one group from members of the other.
Let us, in the first place, consider what are the characters which
all Feelings have in common, and what are the characters which
Relations between feelings have in common.

* London, 1855; 2d ed. ib. 1870; 3d ed. 7b. 1881; 5th ed. 1890.

506 HERBERT SPENCER

' Each feeling, as we here define it, is any portion of conscious-
ness which occupies a place sufficiently large to give it a per-
ceivable individuality; which has its individuality marked off
from adjacent portions of consciousness by qualitative con-
trasts; and which, when introspectively contemplated, appears
to be homogeneous. These are the essentials. Obviously if
under introspection, a state of consciousness is decomposable,
into unlike parts that exist either simultaneously or succes-
sively, it is not one feeling but two or more. Obviously if it is
indistinguishable from an adjacent portion of consciousness, it
forms one with that portion — is not an individual feeling but
part of one. And obviously if it does not occupy in conscious-
ness an appreciable area, or an appreciable duration, it cannot
be known as a feeling.

A relation between feelings is, on the contrary, characterized
by occupying no appreciable part of consciousness. Take away
the terms it unites, and it disappears along with them; having
no independent place — no individuality of its own. It is true,
that, under an ultimate analysis, what we call a relation proves
to be itself a kind of feeling — the momentary feeling accom-
panying the transition from one conspicuous feeling to an
adjacent conspicuous feeling. And it is true that, notwith-
standing its extreme brevity, its qualitative character is appre-
ciable; for relations are (as we shall hereafter see) distinguish-
able from one another only by the unlikenesses of the feelings
which accompany the momentary transitions. (Each relational
feeling may, in fact, be regarded as one of those nervous shocks
which we suspect to be the units of composition of feelings; and,
though instantaneous, it is known as of greater or less strength
and as taking place with greater or less facility. But the con-
trast between these relational feelings and what we ordinarily
call feelings, is so strong that we must class them apart. Their
extreme brevity, their small variety, and their dependence on
the terms they unite, differentiate them in an unmistakeable
way.

1 It will perhaps be objected that some relations, as those between things
which are distant in Space or in Time, occupy distinguishable portions of con-

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 507

Perhaps it will be well to recognize more fully the truth that
this distinction cannot be absolute. Besides admitting that, as
an element of consciousness, a relation is a momentary feeling,
we must also admit that just as a relation can have no existence
apart from the feelings which form its terms, so a feeling can
exist only by relations to other feelings which limit it in space
or time or both. Strictly speaking, neither a feeling nor a rela-
tion is an independent element of consciousness: there is
throughout a dependence such that the appreciable areas of
consciousness occupied by feelings, can no more possess indi-
vidualities apart from the relations which link them, than these
relations can possess individualities apart from the feelings they
link. The essential distinction between the two, then, appears
to be that whereas a relational feeling is a portion of conscious-
ness inseparable into parts, a feeling ordinarily so-called, is a
portion of consciousness that admits imaginary division into
like parts which are related to one another in sequence or co-
existence.) A feeling proper is either made up of like parts that
occupy time, or it is made up of like parts that occupy space, or
both. In any case, a feeling proper is an aggregate of related
like parts, while a relational feeling is undecomposable. And
this is exactly the contrast between the two which must result
if, as we have inferred, feelings are composed of units of feeling,
or shocks.

§ 66. Simple feelings as above defined, are of various kinds.
To say anything here about the classification of them, involves
some forestalling of a future chapter. This breach of order,
however, is unavoidable; for until certain provisional groupings
have been made, further exposition is scarcely practicable.

Limiting our attention to seemingly-homogeneous feelings
as primarily experienced, they may be divided into the feelings
which are centrally initiated and the feelings which are peri-

sciousness. These, however, are not the simple relations between adjacent
feelings which we are here dealing with. They are relations that bridge over
great numbers of intervening feelings and relations; and come into existence
only by quick transitions through these intervening states, ending in the consoli-
dation of them.

i

508 HERBERT SPENCER

pherally initiated — emotions and sensations. These have
widely unlike characters. Towards the close of this volume
evidence will be found that while the sensations are relatively
simple, the emotions, though seeming to be simple are ex-
tremely compound; and that a marked contrast of character
between them hence results. But without referring to any
essential unlikeness of composition, we shall shortly see that
between the centrally-initiated feelings and the peripherally-
initiated feelings, fundamental distinctions may be established
by introspective comparison.

A subdivision has to be made. The peripherally-initiated
feelings, or sensations, may be grouped into those which,
caused by disturbances at the ends of nerves distributed on
the outer surface, are taken to imply outer agencies, and those
which, caused by disturbances at the ends of nerves distributed
within the body, are not taken to imply outer agencies; which
last, though not peripherally initiated in the ordinary sense, are
so in the physiological sense. But as between the exterior of the
body and its interior, there are all gradations of depth, it results
that this distinction is a broadly marked one, rather than a
sharply marked one. We shall, however, find that certain dif-
ferential characters among the sensations accompany this dif-
ference of distribution of the nerves in which they arise; and
that they are decided in proportion to the relative superficiality
or centrality of these nerves. )

In contrast with this class of primary or real feelings, thus
divided and subdivided, has to be set the complementary class
of secondary or ideal feelings, similarly divided and subdivided.
Speaking generally, the two classes differ greatly in intensity.
While the primary or originally-produced feelings are relatively
vivid, the secondary or reproduced feelings are relatively faint.
It should be added that the vivid feelings are taken to imply
objective exciting agents then and there acting on the peri-
phery of the nervous system; while the faint feelings, though
taken to imply objective exciting agents which thus acted at a
past time, are not taken to imply their present action.

We are thus obliged to carry with us a classification based

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 509

on structure and a classification based on function. The divi-
sion into centrally-initiated feelings, called emotions, and peri-
pherally-initiated feelings, called sensations; and the subdivi-
sion of these last into sensations that arise on the exterior of the
body and sensations that arise in its interior; respectively refer
to differences among the parts in action. Whereas the division
into vivid or real feelings and faint or ideal feelings, cutting
across the other divisions at right angles as we may say, refers
to difference of amount in the actions of these parts. The first
classification has in view unlikenesses of kind among the feel-
ings; and the second, a marked unlikeness of degree, common to
all the kinds.

§ 67. From the classes of simple feelings we pass to the
classes of simple relations between feelings, respecting which
also, something must be said before we can proceed. In default
of an ultimate analysis, which cannot be made at present, cer-
tain brief general statements must suffice.

As already said, the requisite to the existence of a relation |
is the existence of twofeelings between which it is the link. The
requisite to the existence of two feelings is some difference.
And therefore the requisite to the existence of a relation is the
occurrence of a change — the passage from one apparently-
uniform state to another apparently-uniform state, implying
the momentary shock produced by the commencement of a
new state.

It follows that the degree of the change or shock, constituting
in other words the consciousness of the degree of difference
between the adjacent states, is the ultimate basis of the dis-
tinctions among relations. Hence the fundamental division of
them into relations between feelings that are equal, or those of
likeness (which however must be divided by some portion of
consciousness that is unlike them), and relations between feel-
ings that are unequal, or those of unlikeness. These last fall
into what we may distinguish as relations of descending inten-
sity and relations of ascending intensity, according as the tran-
sition is to a greater or to a less amount of feeling. And they

510 HERBERT SPENCER

are further distinguishable into relations of quantitative un-
likeness, or those occurring between feelings of the same nature
but different in degree, and relations of qualitative unlikeness,
or those occurring between feelings not of the same nature.

Relations thus contemplated simply as changes, and grouped
according to the degree of change or the kind of change, sever-
ally belong to one or other of two great categories which take
no account of the terms as like or unlike in nature or amount,
but which take account only of their order of occurrence, as
either simultaneous or successive. This fundamental division
of relations into those of co-existence and those of sequence, is,
however, itself dependent on the preceding division into rela-
tions of equality between feelings and relations of inequality
between them. For relations themselves have to be classed as of
like or unlike kinds by comparing the momentary feelings that
attend the establishment of them, and observing whether these
are like or unlike, and, as we shall hereafter see, the relations of
co-existence and sequence are distinguished from one another
only by process of this kind.

§ 68. Having defined simple feelings and simple relations,
and having provisionally classified the leading kinds of each,
we may now go on to observe how Mind\is made up of these
elements, and how different portions of it are characterized by
different modes of combination of them.

Tracts of consciousness formed of feelings that are centrally
initiated, are widely unlike tracts of consciousness formed of
feelings that are peripherally initiated; and of the tracts of con-
sciousness formed of peripherally-initiated feelings, those parts
occupied by feelings that take their rise in the interior of the
body are widely unlike those parts occupied by feelings that
take their rise on the exterior of the body. The marked unlike-
nesses are in both cases due to the greater or smaller porpor-
tions of the relational elements that are present. Whereas
among centrally-initiated feelings, the mutual limitations, both
simultaneous and successive, are vague and far between; and
whereas among peripherally-initiated feelings caused by inter- ,

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 511

nal disturbances, some are extremely indefinite, and few or none
definite in a high degree; feelings caused by external disturb-
ances are mostly related quite clearly, alike by co-existence and
sequence, and among the highest of them the mutual limita-
tions in space or time or both, are extremely sharp. These
broad contrasts, dependent on the extent to which the elements
of feeling are compounded with the elements of relation, cannot
be understood, and their importance perceived, without illus-
trations. We will begin with those parts of Mind distinguished
by predominance of the relational elements.

Remembering that the lenses of the eye form a nonsentient
optical apparatus that casts images on the retina, we may fairly
say that the retina is brought more directly into contact with
the external agent acting on it than is any other peripheral
expansion of the nervous system. And it is in the tracts of con-
sciousness produced by the various lights reflected from objects
around and concentrated on the retina, that we find the ele-
ments of feeling most intimately woven up with the elements of
relation. The multitudinous states of consciousness yielded by
vision, areabove all others sharp in theirmutual limitations; the
differences that occur between adjacent ones are extremely
definite. It is further to be noted that the relational element is
here dominant under both of its fundamental forms. Some of
the feelings simultaneously limit one another with great dis-
tinctness, and some of them with equal distinctness succes-
sively limit one another. The feelings caused by
actionson the general surface of the body are marked off clearly,
though by no means so clearly as those which arise in the retina.
Sensations of touch initiated at points on the skin very near one’
another, form parts of consciousness that are separate though
adjacent; and these are distinguishable not only as.co-existing
in close promixity, but also as distinct from kindred sensations
immediately preceding or immediately succeeding them.
Moreover the definiteness of their mutual limitations, in space
if not in time, is greatest among the sensations of touch pro-
ceeding from parts of the surface which have, in a sense, the
greatest externality — the parts which, like the tips of the

512 HERBERT SPENCER

fingers and the tip of the tongue, have the most frequent and
varied converse with outer objects.? Next in the
definiteness of their mutual limitations come the auditory feel-
ings. Among such of these as occur together, the relations are
marked with imperfect clearness. Received through unculti-
vated ears, only a few simultaneous sounds are vaguely sepa-
rable in consciousness; though received through the ears of a
musician, many such sounds may be distinguished and identi-
fied. But among successive sounds the relational components
of mind are conspicuous. Differences between tones that follow
one another, even very rapidly, are clearly perceived. But the
demarcations are less decided than those between contrasted
sensations in the field of vision. Passing to the sen-
sations of taste, we see that these, less external in their origin
(for it is not in the tip of the tongue, but over its hinder part
and the back of the palate, that the gustatory nerves are dis-
tributed), are comparatively indefinite in their relations. Such
distinctions as may be perceived between tastes that co-exist
are comparatively vague, and can be extended to but two or
three. Similarly, the beginnings and ends of successive tastes
are far less sharp than the beginnings and ends of the visual
impressions we receive at every glance; nor can successive
tastes be distinguished with anything like the same rapidity as
successive tones. Even more undecided are the mu-
tual limitations among sensations of smell, which, like the last,
originate at a considerable distance from the surface (for the
nose is not the seat of smell: the olfactory chamber, with which
the nostrils communicate, is seated high up between the eyes).
Of simultaneous smells the discrimination is very vague; and
probably not more than three can be separately identified. Of
smells that follow one another, it is manifest that they begin
and end indefinitely, and that they cannot be experienced in
rapid succession.

1 The tongue is a much more active tactual organ than at first appears. The
mechanical impressions it receives are not limited to those given by the food
which it manages during mastication; but at other times it is perpetually explor-
ing the inner surfaces of the teeth, which are to it external bodies.

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 513

Wecome now to the peripherally-initiated feelings set up by
internal disturbances. Among these the most superficial in
origin and most relational as they exist in consciousness, are the
sensations of muscular tension. Though, except when making
vigorous efforts, these are but feeble; though such as are present
together mutually limit one another in a very vague way; and
though their beginnings and ends are so blurred that a series of
them is but indistinctly separable into parts; yet they are juxta-
posed and contrasted to the extent implied by discriminations
and recognitions of them — discriminations and recognitions so
partial, however, as frequently to require indirect verifications.
It should be added that the relations among muscular feelings
are variable in abundance and distinctness. They are most con-
spicuous when the feelings come from muscles that are small,
and in perpetual action, as those which move the eyes, the fin-
gers, and the vocal organs; and least conspicuous when the
feelings come from muscles that are large or centrally seated,
or both, as those of the legs and of the trunk. Pass-
ing over abnormal feelings of pain and discomfort due to dis-
turbances of nerves distributed within the limbs and body,
among which the small proportion of the relational element is
manifest, it will suffice if we come at once to the feelings origin-
ating in parts that are remotest from the external world, and
which, at least relational, are most distinguished from those we
set out with. Hunger is extremely vague in its beginning and
end. Commencing unobtrusively and ceasing gradually, it is
utterly unlike those feelings which, closely contiguous in time,
make one another distinct by mutual limitation. Neither is it
appreciably marked out by co-existing feelings; its position
among simultaneous states of consciousness is indeterminate.
And this indefiniteness of relation, both in space and time,
characterizes other visceral feelings, both normal and ab-
normal.

Of the centrally-initiated feelings, or emotions, much the
same has to be said as of the last. Their beginnings and endings
in time are comparatively indefinite, and they have no definite
localizations in space. That is to say, they are not limited by

514 HERBERT SPENCER

preceding and succeeding states of consciousness with any pre-
cision; and no identifiable bounds are put to them by states of
consciousness that co-exist. Here, then, the relational element
of mind is extremely inconspicuous. The sequences among
emotions that can occur in a given period, are comparatively
few and indeterminate; and between such two or three emo-
tions as can co-exist it is impossible to distinguish in more than
a vague way. i

§ 69. Further and equally important distinctions obtain
between the tracts of consciousness thus broadly contrasted,
and they are similarly caused. Presence of the relational ele-
ments, seen in the mutual limitations of feelings, simultaneous
and successive, is accompanied by the mutual cohesion of
feelings; and absence of the relational elements, seen in the
indeterminate boundaries of feelings in space and time, is
accompanied by their incoherence. Let us re-observe the tracts
of consciousness above compared.

The sharply-defined patches of colour that occur together
in a visual impression, are indissolubly united — held rigidly
in juxtaposition. And successive visual feelings, such as are
produced by transferring the gaze from one object to another,
have a strength of connection that gives a fixed consciousness
of their order. Thus the visual feelings, above all others dis-
tinguished by the sharpness of their mutual limitations, are
absolutely coherent in space and very coherent in time.
Between sensations of touch given by an object grasped, the
cohesion is not so great. Though the two feelings produced by »
two points felt simultaneously by a finger, hold together so
that they cannot be removed far from one another in con-
sciousness; yet the bond uniting them has much less rigidity
than the bond uniting ‘the visual feelings produced by the
two points; and when the feelings are more than two, their
connections in consciousness are loose enough to permit of
much variation in the conception of their relative positions.
Still the strength of links between co-existing feelings of touch
is considerable; as is also that between successive feelings of the

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 515

same kind. Among the simultaneous feelings caused
by simultaneous sounds, especially if they are not in harmony,
the defect of cohesion is as marked as the defect of mutual
limitation. But among the successive feelings produced by suc-
cessive sounds, we find that along with distinct mutual limita-
tions there go decided mutual cohesions. Sequent: notes, or
articulations, cling together with tenacity. Much
less clearly bounded by one another as are tastes, simultaneous
and successive, they are also comparatively incoherent. Among
co-existent tastes there are no connections like those between
co-existent visual feelings, or even like those between the
sounds produced at the same instant by a band; and tastes do
not hold together in sequence as do the tones of cadence.
Of smells the like is true. Along with vagueness in the bound-
ing of one by another there goes but a feeble linking together.

The feelings accompanying muscular actions have cohesions
that are hidden in much the same way as are their limitations.
The difficulty of observing the mutual limitations of muscular
feelings, is due to the fact that each muscle, or set of miuscles,
passes from a state of rest to a state of action or from a state of
action to a state of rest, through gradations that occupy an ap-
preciable time; and that, consequently, the accompanying feel-
ing, instead of beginning and ending strongly, shades off at both
extremes. Being thus weak at the places where they are con-
tiguous, these feelings are incapable of strong cohesions. Indeed,
if we except those which accompany great efforts, we may say
that they are altogether so faint compared with most others
that their relations, both in kind and order, are necessarily
inconspicuous. Their cohesions are in a great degree those of
automatic nervous acts; and are by so much the less the cohe-
sions of conscious states. Those very vague feelings
which have their seats in the viscera, may, as before, be exem-
plified by hunger. Here where we reach such extreme inde-
finiteness of limitation, both in space and time, we reach an
extreme want of cohesion. Hunger does not suddenly follow
some other into consciousness; nor is it suddenly followed by
some other. Neither is there any simultaneous feeling to which

516 HERBERT SPENCER

it clings. The relational element of Mind is almost absent;
holding only in a feeble degree with some tastes and smells.

Lastly, among the centrally-initiated feelings, or emotions,
the same connection of characters occurs. When emotions
co-exist, they can scarcely be said to hold together: the bond
between them is so feeble, that each may disappear without
affecting the others. Between sequent emotions the links have
no appreciable strength: no one is attached to another in such
way as to produce constancy of succession. And though be-
tween emotions and certain more definite feelings which pre-
cede them, there are strong connections, yet these connections
are not between emotions and single antecedent feelings, but
between emotions and large groups of antecedent feelings; and
even this cohesion, very variable in its strength, may entirely
fail.

§ 70. A further trait in the composition of Mind, dependent
on these correlated traits, may next be set down. We have seen
that tracts of consciousness formed of feelings produced by
external disturbances, are mostly distinguished by predomi-
nance of the relational element, involving clearness of mutual
limitation and strength of cohesion among the component
feelings; and we have seen that, contrariwise, the feelings pro-
duced by internal disturbances, peripheral and central are
mostly distnguished by comparative want of the relational
element, involving proportionate defect of mutual limitation
and cohesion. We have now to observe that the tracts of con-
sciousness thus broadly contrasted, are, by consequence, broadly
contrasted in the respect that, in the one case, the component
feelings can unite into coherent and well-defined clusters, while,
in the other case, they cannot so unite.

The state of consciousness produced by an object seen is
composed of sharply-outlined lights, shades, and colours, and
the co-existent feelings and relations entering into one of these
groups form an indissoluble whole. To a considerable degree,
successive visual feelings cling together in defined groups. As
most of them are caused by moving objects more or less com-

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 517

plex, it is difficult to trace this clustering of them in sequence
apart from their clustering in co-existence. But if we take the
case of a bird that suddenly flies past close to a window out of
which we are looking, it is manifest that the successive feelings
form a consciousness of its line of movement so defined and
coherent that we know, without having moved the eyes, what
was its exact course. The clustering of auditory
feelings, comparatively feeble among those occurring simul-
taneously, is comparatively strong among those occurring suc-
cessively.| Hence the consolidated groups of sounds which we
know in consciousness as words. Hence the chains of notes
which we remember as musical phrases. The clustering
of tactual feelings in relations of co-existence, though by no
means so decided as the clustering of co-existent visual feelings,
either in the extent or complexity of the clusters or the firmness
with which their components are united, is nevertheless consid-
erable. When the hand is laid on some small object, as a key, a
number of impressions may be distinguished as separate though
near one another; but while their mutual relations are so far
fixed that approximate limits within which they exist are
known, they do not constitute anything like such a fixed and
defined group as those given by vision of the key. This imper-
fect clustering in co-existence is accompanied by imperfect clus-
tering in sequence. The successive feelings produced by a fly
creeping over the hand, hold together strongly enough and
definitely enough to constitute a consciousness of its general
movement as being towards the wrist or from the wrist, across
from right to left or from left to right; but they do not form a
consciousness of its exact course. Tastes unite only
into very simple and incoherent clusters in co-existence; while
in sequence they scarcely unite at all. And the like is true of
smells.

Such capability of clustering as is displayed by the peri-
pherally-initiated feelings caused by internal disturbances, oc-
curs among those accompanying the movements of muscles.
But, along with the comparative vagueness of limitation and

want of strong cohesion which characterize these feelings, there

518 HERBERT SPENCER

goes a comparative indistinctness of the clusters. Though the
nervous acts of which muscular motions are results, combine
into groups with much precision, yet the combination of them,
at first feeble, becomes strong only by repetition. And as the
repetition which makes the combination strong, makes it to the
same extent automatic, the concomitant feelings become less
and less distinct, and fade from consciousness as fast as they
unite. How, in muscular acts, complete clustering and uncon-
sciousness go together, is seen in the fact that consciousness
impedes clustered muscular acts. After having many times
gone through the series of compound movements required, it is
possible to walk across the room in the dark and lay hold of the
handle of the door — so long, that is, as the movements are
gone through unthinkingly. If they are consciously made,
failure is almost certain. Of the further class of feel-
ings initiated within the body, including appetites, pains, &c.,
it is scarcely needful to say that there is among them no forma-
tion of coherent groups. Their great indefiniteness of limita-
tion and accompanying want of cohesion, forbid unions of them,
either simultaneous or successive.

Obviously the emotions are characterized by a like want of
combining power. A confused and changing chaos is produced
by any of them which co-exist. In fact, the absence among
them of capacity for uniting, is as marked as its presence
among those visual feelings with which we set out.

§ 71. We come now to more complex manifestations of these
general contrasts. In tracts of consciousness where the rela-
tional element predominates, and where the clustering of feel-
ings is consequently decided, the clusters themselves enter into
relations one with another. Grouped feelings, together with
the relations uniting them, are fused into wholes which, com-
porting themselves as single feelings do, combine with other
such consolidated groups in definite relations; and even groups
of groups, similarly fused, become in like manner limited by,
and coherent with, other groups of groups. Conversely, in
tracts of consciousness where the relations are few and vague,
nothing of the kind takes place.

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 519

It is among the visual feelings, above all others multitudin-
ous, definite, and coherent in their relations, that this com-
pound clustering is carried to the greatest extent. Along with
the ability to form that complex consciousness of lights, shades,
and colours, joined in relative positions, which constitute a
man as present to sight, there goes the ability to form a con-
sciousness of two men in a definite and coherent relation of
position — there goes the ability to form a consciousness
of a crowd of such men; nay, two or more such crowds
may be mentally combined. The aggregate of definitely-
related visual feelings known as a house, itself aggregates
with others such to form the consciousness of a street, and the
streets to form the consciousness of a town. Though the com-
pound clustering of visual feelings in sequence is not so distinct
or so strong, it is still very marked. Numerous complicated
images produced by objects seen in succession, hang together
in consciousness with considerable tenacity. There is
little, if any, clustering of clusters among the simultaneous
auditory feelings. But among the successive auditory feelings
there are definite and coherent combinations of groups with
groups. The fused set of sounds we call a word, unites with
many others such into a sentence. In some minds these clus-
ters of clusters of successive sounds again cluster very defin-
itely and coherently: many successive sentences are, as we say,
accurately remembered. And similarly, musical phrases will
cling together into a long and elaborate melody. Among
the tactual feelings this compound clustering is scarcely trace-
able, either in space or time; and there is not the remotest
approach to it in the olfactory and gustatory feelings.

For form’s sake it is needful to say that these higher degrees
of mental composition are entirely wanting among the inter-
nally-initiated feelings. Only among those which accompany
muscular motion is there any approach to it; and here the
compound clustering, like the simple clustering, entails pro-
gressing unconsciousness.

§ 72. One more kindred trait of composition must be set

520 HERBERT SPENCER

down. Thus far we have observed only the degrees of mutual
limitation, of cohesion, and of complex combining power,
among feelings within each order. It remains to observe the
extent to which feelings of one order enter into relations with
those of another, and the consequent amounts of their mutual
limitations and of their combining powers. To trace out these
at all fully would carry us into unmanageable detail. We must
confine ourselves to leading facts.

Feelings of different orders do not limit one another as clearly
as feelings of the same order do. The clustered colours pro-
duced by an object at which we look are but little interfered
with by a sound: the sound does not put any appreciable
boundary to them in consciousness, but serves merely to di-
minish their dominance in consciousness. Neither the combined
noises which make up a conversation at table, nor the impres-
sions received through the eyes from the dishes on the table,
are excluded from the mind by the accompanying tactual feel-
ings and tastes and smells, as much as colours are excluded by
colours, sounds by sounds, tastes by tastes, or one tactual feeling
by another. Of sensations arising within the body, and still
more of emotions, it may be said that, unless intense, they dis-
turb but slightly the sensations otherwise arising. It would
almost seem as though a sensation of colour, a sensation of
sound, and a pleasurable emotion produced by the sound,
admit of being superposed in consciousness with but little mu-
tual obscuration. Doubtless in most cases two simple feelings,
or two clustered feelings of different orders, put bounds to one
another in time if not in space: there is an extremely rapid
extrusion of each by the other rather than a continuous pres-
ence of either. But it is manifest that these alternating ex-
trusions, partial or complete, by feelings of different orders, are
less distinct than the extrusion of one another by feelings of the
same order.

It is a correlative truth that feelings of different orders cohere
with one another less strongly than do feelings of the same
order. The impressions which make up the visual conscious-
ness of an object, hang together more firmly than the group of

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 521

them does with the group of sounds making up the name of the
object. The notes composing a melody have a stronger ten-
dency to drag one another into consciousness than any one, or
all of them, have to drag into consciousness the sights along
with which they occurred: these last may or may not cohere
with them; but the following of one note by the next is often
difficult to prevent. Similarly, though there is considerable
cohesion between the visual sensations produced by an orange
and the taste or smell of the orange, yet it is quite usual to have
a visual consciousness of an orange without its taste or its smell
arising in consciousness; while it is scarcely possible to have
before the mind one of its apparent characters unaccompanied
by other apparent characters.

A further fact of moment must be added. The feelings of
different orders which enter into definite relations and cohere
most strongly, are those among which there is a predominance
of the relational elements; and there is an especial facility of
combination between those feelings of different orders which
are respectively held together by relations of the same order.
Thus the co-existent visual feelings, most relational of all, enter
into very definite and coherent relations with co-existent tact-
ful feelings. To the group of lights and shades an object yields
to the eyes, there attaches itself very strongly the group of im-
pressions produced by touching and grasping the object. Next
in order of strength are the connections between sensations
received through the eyes and those received through the ears;
or rather — between clusters of the one and clusters of the
other. But though the feelings clustered in co-existence that
form the visual consciousness of anything, are linked with
much strength to the feelings clustered in sequence that form
the consciousness of its name; yet, probably because the feelings
forming the onecluster not only differ in kind from those form-
ing the other but are held together by relations of a different
order, the cohesion of the two clusters is not so strong. As we
descend towards the unrelational feelings we find that this com-
bining power of class with class decreases. Between tastes and
smells and certain visceral sensations, such as hunger and

522 HERBERT SPENCER

nausea, there is, indeed, a considerable aptitude to cohere.
But after admitting exceptions, it remains true on the average
that the extremely un-relational states of consciousness of
different orders, connect but feebly with one another and with
the extremely-relational states of consciousness.

§ 73. Thus far we have proceeded as though Mind were
composed entirely of the primary or vivid feelings, and the
relations among them; ignoring the secondary or faint feelings.
Or if, as must be admitted, there has been a tacit recognition of
these secondary feelings in parts of the foregoing sections which
deal with the relations and cohesions of feelings in sequence
(since in a sequence of feelings those which have passed have
become faint, and only the one present is vivid); yet there has
been no avowed recognition of them as components of Mind
different from, though closely allied with, the primary feelings.
We must now specially consider them and the part they play.

The cardinal fact to be noted as of co-ordinate importance
with the facts above noted, is that while each vivid feeling is
joined to, but distinguished from, other vivid feelings, simul-
taneous or successive, it is joined to, and identified with, faint
feelings that have resulted from foregoing similar vivid feelings.
Each particular colour, each special sound, each sensation of
touch, taste, or smell, is at once known as unlike other sensa-
tions that limit it in space or time, and known as like the faint
forms of certain sensations that have preceded it in time —
unites itself with foregoing sensations from which it does not
differ in quality but only in intensity.

On this law of composition depends the orderly structure of
Mind. In its absence there could be nothing but a perpetual
kaleidoscopic change of feelings — an ever-transforming pre-
sent without past or future. It is because of this tendency
which vivid feelings have severally to cohere with the faint
forms of all preceding feelings like themselves, that there arise
what we call ideas. A vivid feeling does not by itself constitute
a unit of that aggregate of ideas entitled knowledge. Nor does
a single faint feeling constitute such a unit. But an idea, or unit

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 523

of knowledge, results when a vivid feeling is assimilated to, or
coheres with, one or more of the faint feelings left by such vivid
feelings previously experienced. From moment to moment the
feelings that constitute consciousness segregate — each be-
coming fused with the whole series of others like itself that have
gone before it; and what we call knowing each feeling-as such or
such, is our name for this act of segregation.

The process $0 carried on does not stop with the union of
each feeling, as it occurs, with the faint forms of all preceding
like feelings. Clusters of feelings are simultaneously joined
with the faint forms preceding like clusters. An idea of an ob-
ject or act is composed of groups of similar and similarly-
related feelings that have arisen in consciousness from time
to time, and have formed a consolidated series of which the
members have partially or completely lost their individuali-
ties.

This union of present clustered feelings with past clustered
feelings is carried to a much greater degree of complexity.
Groups of groups coalesce with kindred groups of groups that
preceded them; and in the higher types of Mind, tracts of con-
sciousness of an excessively composite character are produced
after the same manner.

To complete this general conception it is needful to say that
as with feelings, so with the relations between feelings. Parted
so far as may be from the particular pairs of feelings and pairs
of groups of feelings they severally unite, relations themselves
are perpetually segregated. From moment to moment relations
are distinguished from one another in respect of the degrees of
contrast between their terms and the kinds of contrast between
their terms; and each relation, while distinguished from various
concurrent relations, is assimilated to. previously-experienced
relations like itself. Thus result zdeas of relations as those of
strong contrast or weak contrast, of descending intensity or
ascending intensity, of homogeneity of kind or heterogeneity of
kind. Simultaneously occurs a segregation of a different species.
Each relation of co-existence is classed with other like relations
of co-existence and separated from relations of co-existence that

524 HERBERT SPENCER |

are unlike it; and a kindred classing goes on among relations of
sequence. Finally, by a further segregation, are formed that
consolidated abstract of relations of co-existence which we
know as Space, and that consolidated abstract of relations of
sequence which we know as Time. This process, here briefly
indicated merely to show its congruity with the general process
of composition, cannot be explained at length: the elucidation
must come hereafter. ;

§ 74. And now having roughly sketched the composition of
Mind — having, to preserve clearness of outline, omitted de-
tails and passed over minor qualifications; let me go on to indi-
cate the essential truth which it is a chief purpose of this chap-
ter to bring into view — the truth that the method of composi-
tion remains the same throughout the entire fabric of Mind
from the formation of its simplest feelings up to the formation
of those immense and complex aggregates of feelings which
characterize its highest developments.

In the last chapter we saw that what is objectively a wave of
molecular change propagated through a nerve-centre, is sub-
jectively a unit of feeling, akin in nature to what we call a nerv-
ous shock. In one case we found conclusive proof that when a
rapid succession of such waves yield a rapid succession of such
units of feeling, there results the continuous feeling known as a
sensation; and that the quality of the feeling changes when
these waves and corresponding units of feeling recur with a dif-
ferent rapidity. Further, it was shown that by unions among
simultaneous series of such units recurring at unlike rates,
countless other seemingly-simple sensations are produced. And
we inferred that what unquestionably holds among these
primary feelings of one order, probably holds among primary
feelings of all orders. To what does this conclusion amount,
expressed in another way? It amounts to the conclusion that
one of these feelings which, as introspectively contemplated,
appears uniform, is really generated by the perpetual assimila-
tion of a new pulse of feeling to pulses of feeling immediately
preceding it: the sensation is constituted by the linking of each

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 525

vivid pulse as it occurs, with the series of past pulses that were
severally vivid but have severally become faint. And what,
otherwise stated, is the conclusion that compound sensations
result from unions among different concurrent series of such
pulses? It is that while the component pulses of each series are,
as they occur, severally assimilated to, or linked with, preced-
ing pulses of their own kind, they are also severally combined
in some relation with the pulses of concurrent series; and the
compound sensation so generated is known as different from
other compound sensations of the same order, by virtue of
some speciality in the relations among the concurrent series.
Consider now, under its most general form, the process of
composition of Mind described in foregoing sections. It is no
other than this same process carried out on higher and higher
platforms, with increasing extent and complication. As we
have lately seen, the feelings called sensations cannot of them-
selves constitute Mind, even when great numbers of various
kinds are present together. Mind is constituted only when each
sensation is assimilated to the faint forms of antecedent-like
sensations.) The consolidation of successive units of feeling to /
form a sensation, is paralleled in a larger way by the consolida-
tion of successive sensations to form what we call a knowledge
of the sensation as such or such — to form the smallest separa-
ble portion of what we call thought, as distinguished from mere
confused sentiency. So too is it with the relations among those
feelings that occur together and limit one another in space or
time. Each of these relations, so long as it stands alone in expe-
rience with no antecedent like relations, is not fully cognizable
as a relation: it assumes its character as a component of intelli-
gence only when, by recurrence of it, there is produced a serial
aggregate of such relations. Observe further that while
each special sensation is raised into a proixmate constituent of
simple thought only by being fused with like predecessors, it
becomes a proximate constituent of compound thought by
simultaneously entering into relations of unlikeness with other
sensations which limit it in space or time; just as we saw that
the units or pulses that form simple sensations by serial union

526 HERBERT SPENCER

with their kind, may simultaneously help to form complex sen-
sations by entering into relations of difference with units of
other kinds. The same thing obviously holds of the relations
themselves, that exist between these unlike sensations. And
thus it becomes manifest that the method by which simple sen-
sations, and the relations among them, are compounded into
states of definite consciousness, is essentially analogous to the
method by which primitive units of feeling are compounded into
sensations.

The next higher stage of mental composition shows us this
process repeating itself.. The vivid cluster of related sensations
produced in us by a special object, has to be united with the
faint forms of clusters like it that have been before produced
by such objects. What we call knowing the object, is the as-
similation of this combined group of real feelings it excites,
with one or more preceding ideal groups which objects of the
same kind once excited; and the knowledge is clear only when
the series of ideal groups is long. Equally does this
principle hold of the connexions, static and dynamic, between
each such special cluster and the special clusters generated by
other objects. Knowledge of the powers and habits of things,
dead and living, is constituted by assimilating the more or less
complex relations exhibited by their actions in space and time
with other such complex relations. If we cannot so assimilate
them, or parts of them, we have no knowledge of their actions.

That the same law of composition continues without definite
limit through tracts of higher consciousness, formed of clusters
of clusters of feelings held together by relations of an extremely
involved kind, scarcely needs adding.

§ 75. How clearly the evolution of Mind, as thus traced
through ascending stages of composition, conforms to the laws _
of Evolution in general, will be seen as soon as it is said. We
will glance at the correspondence under each of its leading
aspects.

Evolution is primarily a progressing integration; and
throughout this chapter, as well as the last, progressing inte-

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 527

gration has thrust itself upon us as the fundamental fact in
mental evolution. We came upon it quite unexpectedly in the |
conclusion that a sensation is an integrated series of nervous
shocks or units of feeling; and in the further conclusion that by
integration of two or more such series, compound sensations are
formed. We have lately seen that by an integration of succes-
sive like sensations, there arises the knowledge of a sensation
as such or such; and that each sensation as it occurs, while
thus integrated with its like, also unites into an aggregate with
other sensations that limit it in space or time. And we have
similarly seen that the integrated clusters resulting, enter into
higher integrations of both these kinds; and so on to the
end. The significance of these facts will be appreciated,
when it is remembered that the tracts of consciousness in
which ‘integration is undecided, are tracts of consciousness
hardly included in what we commonly think of as Mind; and
that the tracts of consciousness presenting the attributes of
Mind in the highest degree, are those in which the integration
is carried furthest. Hunger, thirst, nausea, and visceral feelings
in general, as well as feelings of love, hatred, anger, &c., which
cohere little with one another and with other feelings, and thus
integrate but feebly into groups, are portions of consciousness
that play but subordinate parts in the actions we chiefly class as
mental. Mental actions, ordinarily so called, are nearly all,
carried on in terms of those tactual, auditory, and visual feel-
ings, which exhibit cohesion, and consequent ability to inte-
grate, in so conspicuous a manner. Our intellectual operations
are indeed mostly confined to the auditory feelings (as inte-
grated into words) and the visual feelings (as integrated into
impressions and ideas of objects, their relations, and their
motions). After closing the eyes and observing how relatively-
immense is the part of intellectual consciousness that is sud-
denly shorn away, it will be manifest that the most developed
portion of perceptive Mind is formed of these visual feelings
which cohere so rigidly, which integrate into such large and nu-
merous aggregates, and which re-integrate into aggregates im-
mensely exceeding in their degree of composition all aggregates

528 HERBERT SPENCER

formed by other feelings. And then, on rising to what we for
convenience distinguish as rational Mind, we find the integra-
tion taking a still wider reach.

The ascending phases of Mind show us no less conspicu-
ously, the increasing heterogeneity of these integrated aggre-
gates of feelings. In the last chapter, we saw how sensations
that are all composed of units of one kind, are rendered hetero-
geneous by the combination and re-combination of such units
in multitudinous ways. We have lately seen that the portions
of consciousness occupied by the internal bodily feelings and by
the emotions, are, as judged by introspection, relatively very
simple or homogeneous: thirst is not made up of contrasted
parts, nor can we separate a gust of passion into many distin-
guishable components. But on passing upwards to intellectual
consciousness, there meets us an increasing variety of kinds of
feelings present together. When we come to the auditory feel-
ings, which play so important a part in processes of thought,
we find that the groups of them are formed of many compon-
ents, and that those groups of groups used as symbols of pro-
positions are very heterogeneous. As before however with
integration, so where with heterogeneity, a far higher degree is
reached in that consciousness formed of visual feelings, which
is the most developed part of perceptive Mind. And much
more heterogeneous still are those tracts of consciousness dis-
tinguished as ratiocinative tracts, in which the multiform
feelings given us by objects through eyes, ears, and tactual
organs, nose, and palate, are formed into conceptions that
answer to the objects in all their attributes, and all their
activities.

With equal clearness does Mind display the further trait of
Evolution — increase of definiteness. Both the centrally-
initiated feelings and the internal peripherally-initiated feel-
ings, which play so secondary a part in what we understand
as Mind, we found to be very vague — very imperfectly lim-
ited by one another. Contrariwise, it was shown that the
mutual limitations are decided among those peripherally-

initiated feelings which, arising on the outer surface, enter

THE PRINCIPLES OF PSYCHOLOGY 529

largely into our intellectual operations; and that the visual
feelings, which enter by far the most largely into our intel-
lectual operations, are not only by far the sharpest in their
mutual limitations, but form aggregates that are much more
definitely circumscribed than any others, and aggregates be-
tween which there exist relations much more definite than
those entered into by other aggregates.

Thus the conformity is complete. Mind rises to what are
universally recognized as its higher developments, in propor-
ticn as it manifests the traits characterizing Evolution in gen-
eral (First Principles, §§ 98-145). A confused sentiency,
formed of recurrent pulses of feeling having but little variety
of kind and but little combination, we may conceive as the
nascent Mind possessed by those low types in which nerves and
nerve-centres are not yet clearly differentiated from one an-
other, or from the tissues in which they lie. At a stage above
this, while yet the organs of the higher senses are rudimentary
and such nerves as exist are incompletely insulated, Mind is
present probably under the form of a few sensations, which, like
those yielded by our own viscera, are simple, vague, and inco-
herent. And from this upwards, the mental evolution exhibits
a differentiation of these simple feelings into the more numer-
ous kinds which the special senses yield; an ever-increasing
integration of such more varied feelings with one another and
with feelings of other kinds; an ever-increasing multiformity in
the aggregates of feelings produced; and an ever-increasing dis-
tinctness of structure in such aggregates. That is to say, there;
goes on subjectively a change ‘‘from an indefinite, incoherent
homogeneity to a definite, coherent heterogeneity;”’ parallel to
that redistribution of matter and motion which constitutes
Evolution as objectively displayed.

JOHANNES MUELLER
(1801-1858)

ELEMENTS OF PHYSIOLOGY

Translated from the German™ by
WILLIAM BALY

BOOK V. OF THE SENSES

THE GENERAL LAWS OF SENSATION

Tue senses, by virtue of the peculiar properties of their
several nerves, make us acquainted with the states of our own
body, and they also inform us of the qualities and changes of
external nature, as far as these give rise to changes in the condi-
tion of the nerves. Sensation is a property common to all the
senses; but the kind (‘‘modus,”) of sensation is different in
each: thus we have the sensations of light, of sound, of taste, of
smell, and of feeling, or touch. By feeling, or touch, we under-
stand the peculiar kind of sensation of which the ordinary sen-
sitive nerves generally —as, the nervus trigeminus, vagus,
glosso-pharyngeus, and the spinal nerves, — are susceptible;
the sensations of itching, of pleasure and pain, of heat and cold,
and those excited by the act of touch in its more limited sense,
are varieties of this mode of sensation. That which through the
medium of our senses is actually perceived by the sensorium, is
indeed merely a property or change of condition of our nerves;
but the imagination and reason are ready to interpret the modi-
fications in the state of the nerves produced by external influ-
ences as properties of the external bodies themselves. This

*¥From J. Miiller’s Handbuch der Physiologie des Menschen fir Vortesungen,

2 Bde. Coblenz, 1834-40. Reprinted from J. Miiller’s Elements of Physiology,
translated by William Baly. London, 1837-42, vol. 11.

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY 531

mode of regarding sensations has become so habitual in the case
of the senses which are more rarely affected by internal causes,
that it is only on reflection that we perceive it to be erroneous.
In the case of the sense of feeling or touch, on the contrary,
where the peculiar sensations of the nerves perceived by the
sensorium are excited as frequently by internal as by-external
causes, it is easily conceived that the feeling of pain or pleasure,
for example, is a condition of the nerves, and not a property of
the things which excite it. This leads us to the consideration of
some general laws, a knowledge of which is necessary before
entering on the physiology of the separate senses.

I. In the first place, it must be kept in mind that external
agencies can give rise to no kind of sensation which cannot also be
produced by internal causes, exciting changes in the condition of
our nerves.

In the case of the sense of touch, this is at once evident. The
sensations of the nerves of touch (or common sensibility) are
those of cold and heat, pain and pleasure, and innumerable
modifications of these, which are neither painful nor pleasur-
able, but yet have the same kind of sensation as their element,
though not in an extreme degree. All these sensations are con-
stantly being produced by internal causes in all parts of our
body endowed with sensitive nerves; they may also be excited
by causes acting from without, but external agencies are not
capable of adding any new element to their nature. The sensa-
tions of the nerves of touch are therefore states or qualities
proper to themselves, and merely rendered manifest by exciting
causes external or internal. The sensation of smell also may be
perceived independently of the application of any odorous sub-
stance from without, the nerve of smell being thrown by an in-
ternal cause into the condition requisite for the production of
the sensation. This perception of the sensation of odours with-
out an external exciting cause, though not of frequent occur-
rence, has been many times observed in persons of an irritable
nervous system; and the sense of taste is probably subject to the
same affection, although it would be always difficult to deter-
mine whether the taste might not be owing to a change in the

532 JOHANNES MUELLER

qualities of the saliva or mucus of the mouth; the sensation of
nausea, however, which belongs.to the sensations of taste, is
certainly very often perceived as the result of a merely internal
affection of the nerves. The sensations of the sense of vision,
namely, colour, light, and darkness, are also perceived inde-
pendently of all external exciting cause. In the state of the
most perfect freedom from excitement, the optic nerve has no
other sensation than that of darkness. The excited condition
of the nerve is manifested, even while the eyes are closed, by the
appearance of light, or luminous flashes, which are mere sensa-
tions of the nerve, and not owing to the presence of any matter
of light, and consequently are not capable of illuminating any
surrounding objects. Every one is aware how common it is to
see bright colours while the eyes are closed, particularly in the
morning when the irritability of the nerves is still considerable.
These phenomena are very frequent in children after waking
from sleep. Through the sense of vision, therefore, we receive
from external nature no impressions which we may not also
experience from internal excitement of our nerves; and it is
evident that a person blind from infancy in consequence of
opacity of the transparent media of the eye, must have a per-
fect internal conception of light and colours, provided the retina
and optic nerve be free from lesion. The prevalent notions with
regard to the wonderful sensations supposed to be experienced
by persons blind from birth when their sight is restored by oper-
ation, are exaggerated and incorrect. The elements of the sen-
sation of vision, namely, the sensations of light, colour, and.
darkness, must have been previously as well known to such
persons as to those of whom the sight has always been perfect.
If, moreover, we imagine a man to be from his birth surrounded
merely by external objects destitute of all variety of colours, so
that he could never receive the impressions of colours from
without, it is evident that the sense of vision might neverthe-
less have been no less perfect in him than in other men; for
light and colours are innate endowments of his nature, and
require merely a stimulus to render them manifest.

The sensations of hearing also are excited as well by internal

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY 53

as by external causes; for, whenever the auditory nerve is in a
state of excitement, the sensations peculiar to it, as the sounds
of ringing, humming, &c. are perceived. It is by such sensations
that the diseases of the auditory nerve manifest themselves;
and, even in less grave, transient affections of the nervous sys-
tem, the sensations of humming and ringing in the ears afford
evidence that the sense of hearing participates in the disturb-
ance.

No further proof is wanting to show, that external influences
give rise in our senses to no other sensations, than those which
may be excited in the corresponding nerves by internal causes.

Il. The same internal cause excites in the different senses dif-
ferent sensations; — in each sense the sensations peculiar to it.

One uniform internal cause acting on all the nerves of the
senses in the same manner, is the accumulation of blood in the
capillary vessels of the nerve, as in congestion and inflamma-
tion. This uniform cause excites in the retina, while the eyes
are closed, the sensation of light and luminous flashes; in the
auditory nerve, humming and ringing sounds; and in the
nerves of feeling, the sensation of pain. In the same way, also,
a narcotic substance introduced into the blood excites in the
nerves of each sense peculiar symptoms; in the optic nerves the
appearance of luminous sparks before the eyes; in the auditory
nerves, “tinnitus aurium;”’ and in the common sensitive nerves
the sensation of ants creeping over the surface.

III. The same external cause also gives rise to different sensa-
tions in each sense, according to the special endowments of its
nerve.

The mechanical influence of a blow, concussion, er pressure
excites, for example, in the eye the sensation of light and
colours. It is well known that by exerting pressure upon the
eye, when the eyelids are closed, we can give rise to the appear-
ance of a luminous circle; by more gentle pressure the appear-
ance of colours may be produced, and one colour may be made
to change to another. Children, waking from sleep before day-
light, frequently amuse themselves with these phenomena. The
light thus produced has no existence external to the optic nerve,

534. JOHANNES MUELLER

it is merely a sensation excited in it. However strongly we press
upon the eye in the dark, so as to.give rise to the appearance of
luminous flashes, these flashes, being merely sensations, are
incapable of illuminating external objects. Of this any one may
easily convince himself by experiment. I have in repeated trials
never been able, by means of these luminous flashes in the eye,
to recognise in the dark the nearest objects, or to see them bet-
ter than before; nor could another person, while I produced by
pressure on my eye the appearance of brilliant flashes, perceive
in it the slightest trace of real light.

A mechanical influence excites also peculiar sensations of the
auditory nerve; at all events, it has become a common saying,
“to give a person what will make his ears ring,” or “ what will
make his eyes flash fire,” or “ what will make him feel ’’; so that
the same cause, a blow, produces in the nerves of hearing,
sight, and feeling, the different sensations proper to these
senses. It has not become a part of common language that a
blow shall be given which will excite the sense of smell, or of
taste; nor would such sayings be correct; yet mechanical irri-
tation of the soft palate, of the epiglottis and root of the tongue,
excites the sensation of nausea. The actions of sonorous bodies
on the organ of hearing is entirely mechanical. A sudden me-
chanical impulse of the air upon the organ of hearing produces
the sensation of a report of different degrees of intensity accord-
ing to the violence of the impulse, just as an impulse upon tht
organ of vision gives rise to the sensation of light. If the action
of the mechanical cause on the organ of hearing be of continued
duration, the sound is also continued; and when caused by a
rapid succession of uniform impulses, or vibrations, it has a
musical character. If we admit that the matter of light acts on
bodies by mechanical oscillation (the undulation theory), we
shall have another example of a mechanical influence, producing
different effects on different senses. These undulations, which
produce in the eye the sensation of light, have no such effects
on other senses; but in the nerves of feeling they produce the
sensation of warmth.

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY 535

The stimulus of electricity may serve as a second example, of a
uniform cause giving rise in different nerves of sense to different
sensations. A single pair of plates of different metals applied so
as to include the eye within the circle, excites the sensation of a
bright flash of light when the person experimented upon is in a
dark room; and, even though the eye do not lie within the cir-
cle, if it be not distant from it, — as, for example, when one of
the plates is applied to one of the eyelids, and the other to the
interior of the mouth, — the same effect will be produced,
owing toa part of the current of electricity being diverted to the
eye. A more intense electric stimulus gives rise to more intense
sensations of light. In the organ of hearing, electricity excites
the sensation of sound. Volta states that, while his ears were
included between the poles of a battery of forty pairs of plates,
he heard a hissing and pulsatory sound, which continued as long
as the circle was closed.* Ritter perceived a sound like that of
the fiddle G at the moment of the closure of the galvanic circle.

The electricity of friction, developed by the electrical ma-
chine, excites in the olfactory nerves the odour of phosphorus.
The application of plates of different metals to the tongue,
gives rise to an acid or a saline taste, according to the length of
the plates which are applied one above, and the other beneath
the tongue. The facts detailed with regard to the other senses
are sufficient to show that these latter phenomena cannot be
attributed to decomposition of the salts of the saliva.

The effects of the action of electricity on the nerves of com-
mon sensation or feeling, are neither the sensation of light, of
sound, of smell, nor of taste, but those proper to the nerves of
feeling, namely, the sensations of pricking, of a blow, &c.

Chemical influences also probably produce different effects
on different nerves of sense. We have, of course, but few
facts illustrating their action on these nerves; but we know that
in the sensitive nerves of the skin they excite the different kinds
of common sensation, — as the sensations of burning, pain, and
heat; in the organ of taste, sensations of taste; and, when vola-
tile, in the nerves of smell, the sensations of odours. Without

* Philos. Transact. 1800, p. 427.

536 JOHANNES MUELLER

the infliction of great injury on the textures, it is impossible to
apply chemical agents to the nerves of the higher senses, sight
and hearing, except through the medium of the blood. Chem-
ical substances introduced into the blood act on every nerve of
sense, and excite in each a manifestation of its properties.
Hence the internal sensations of light and sound, which are well
known to result from the action of narcotics.

IV. The peculiar sensations of each nerve of sense can be excited
by several distinct causes internal and external.

The facts on which this statement is founded have been
already mentioned; for we have seen that the sensation of light
in the eye is excited:

1. By the undulations or emanations which from their action
on the eye are called light, although they have many other
actions than this; for instance, they effect chemical changes,
and are the means of maintaining the organic processes in
plants.

2. By mechanical influences; as concussion, or a blow.

3. By electricity.

4. By chemical agents, such as narcotics, digitalis, &c. which,
being: absorbed into the blood, give rise to the appearance of
luminous sparks, &c. before the eyes independently of any
external cause.

5. By the stimulus of the blood in the state of congestion.

The sensation of sound may be excited in the auditory nerve:

1. By mechanical influences, namely, by the vibrations of
sonorous bodies imparted to the organ of hearing through the
intervention of media capable of propagating them.

2. By electricity.

3. By chemical influences taken into the circulation; such as
the narcotics, or alterantia nervina.

4. By the stimulus of the blood.

The sensation of odours may be excited in the olfactory
nerves:

1. By chemical influences of a volatile nature, — odorous
substances.

2. By electricity.

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY . 537

The sensation of taste may be produced:

1. By chemical influences acting on the gustatory nerves
either from without or through the medium of the blood; for,
according to Magendie, dogs taste milk injected into their
blood-vessels, and begin to lap with their tongue.

2. By electricity.

3. By mechanical influences; for we must refer to wists the
sensation of nausea produced by mechanically irritating the
velum palati, epiglottis, and root of the tongue.

The sensations of the nerves of touch or feeling are excited:

1. By mechanical influences; as sonorous vibrations, and
contact of any kind.

2. By chemical influences.

3. By heat.

4. By electricity.

5. By the stimulus of the blood.

V. Sensation consists in the sensorium receiving through the
medium of the nerves, and as the result of the action of an external
cause, a knowledge of certain qualities or conditions, not of external
bodies, but of the nerves of sense themselves; and these qualities of
the nerves of sense are in all different, the nerve of each sense having
its own peculiar quality or energy.

The special susceptibility of the different nerves of sense for
certain influences, — as of the optic nerve for light, of the
auditory nerve for vibrations, and so on, — was formerly
attributed to these nerves having each a specific irritability.
But this hypothesis is evidently insufficient to explain all the
facts. The nerves of the senses have assuredly a specific irri-
tability for certain influences; for many stimuli, which exert
a violent action upon one organ of sense, have little or no effect
upon another: for example, light, or vibrations so infinitely
rapid as those of light, act only on the nerves of vision and
common sensation; slower vibrations, on the nerves of hearing
and common sensation, but not upon those of vision; odorous
substances only upon the olfactory nerves. The external stim-
uli must therefore be adapted to the organ of sense — must be
“homogeneous:” thus light is the stimulus adapted to the

538 JOHANNES MUELLER

nerve of vision; while vibrations of less rapidity, which act upon
the auditory nerve, are not adapted to the optic nerve, or are
indifferent to it; for if the eye be touched with a tuning-fork
while vibrating, a sensation of tremours is excited in the con-
junctiva, but no sensation of light. We have seen, however,
that one and the same stimulus, as electricity, will produce dif-
ferent sensations in the different nerves of the senses; all the
nerves are susceptible of its action, but the sensations in all are
different. The same is the case with other stimuli, as chemical
and mechanical influences. The hypothesis of a specific irrita-
bility of the nerves of the senses for certain stimuli, is therefore
insufficient; and we are compelled to ascribe, with Aristotle, pe-
culiar energies to each nerve, — energies which are vital quali-
ties of the nerve, just as contractility is the vital property of
muscle. The truth of this has been rendered more and more
evident in recent times by the investigation of the so-called
““subjective” phenomena of the senses by Elliot, Darwin, Rit-
ter, Goethe, Purkinje, and Hjort. Those phenomena of the
senses, namely, are now styled “subjective,” which are pro-
duced, not by the usual stimulus adapted to the particular
nerve of sense, but by others which do not usually act upon it.
These important phenomena were long spoken of as “‘illusions
of the senses,”’ and have been regarded in an erroneous point of
view; while they are really true actions of the senses, and must
be studied as fundamental phenomena in investigations into
their nature.

The sensation of sound, therefore, is the peculiar “energy”
or “quality” of the auditory nerve; the sensation of light and
colours that of the optic nerve; and so of the other nerves of
sense. An exact analysis of what takes place in the production
of a sensation would of itself have led to this conclusion. The
sensations of heat and cold, for example, make us acquainted
with the existence of the imponderable matter of caloric, or of
peculiar vibrations in the vicinity of our nerves of feeling. But
the nature of this caloric cannot be elucidated by sensation,
which is in reality merely a particular state of our nerves; it
must be learnt by the study of the physical properties of this

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY 539

agent, namely, of the laws of its radiation, its development
from the latent state, its property of combining with and pro-
ducing expansion of other bodies, &c. All this again, however,
does not explain the peculiarity of the sensation of warmth as
a condition of the nerves. The simple fact devoid of all theory
is this, that warmth, as a sensation, is produced whenever the
matter of caloric acts upon the nerves of feeling; and that cold
as a sensation, results from this matter of caloric being ab-
stracted from a nerve of feeling.

So, also, the sensation of sound is produced when a certain
number of impulses or vibrations are imparted, within a certain
time, to the auditory nerve: but sound, as we perceive it, is a
very different thing from a succession of vibrations. The vibra-
tions of a tuning-fork, which to the ear give the impression of
sound, produce in a nerve of feeling or touch the sensation of
tickling; something besides the vibrations must consequently
be necessary for the production of the sensation of sound, and
that something is possessed by the auditory nerve alone. Vision
is to be regarded in the same manner. A difference in the in-
tensity of the action of the imponderable agent, light, causes an
inequality of sensation at different parts of the retina: whether
this action consists in impulses or undulations, (the undulation
theory,) or in an infinitely rapid current of imponderable mat-
ter, (the emanation theory,) is a question here of noimportance.
The sensation of moderate light is produced where the action of
the imponderable agent on the retina is not intense; of bright
light where its action is stronger, and of darkness or shade
where the imponderable agent does not fall; and thus results a
luminous image of determinate form according to the distribu-
tion of the parts of the retina differently acted on. Colour is
also a property of the optic nerve; and when excited by external
light, arises from the peculiarity of the so-called coloured rays,
or of the oscillations necessary for the production of the impres-
sion of colour, —a peculiarity, the nature of which is not at
present known. The nerves of taste and smell are capable of
being excited to an infinite variety of sensations by external
causes; but each taste is due to a determinate condition of the

540 JOHANNES MUELLER

nerve excited by the external cause; and it is ridiculous to say
that the property of acidity is communicated to the sensorium
by the nerve of taste, while the acid acts equally upon the nerves
of feeling, though it excites there no sensation of taste.

The essential nature of these conditions of the nerves, by
virtue of which they see light and hear sound, — the essential
nature of sound as a property of the auditory nerve, and of light
as a property of the optic nerve, of taste, of smell, and of feel-
ing, — remains, like the ultimate causes of natural phenomena
generally, a problem incapable of solution. Respecting the na-
ture of the sensation of the colour ‘“‘blue,” for example, we can
reason no farther; it is one of the many facts which mark the
limits of our powers of mind. It would not advance the ques-
tion to suppose the peculiar sensations of the different senses
excited by one and the same cause, to result from the propaga-
tion of vibrations of the nervous principle of different rapidity
to the sensorium. Such an hypothesis, if at all tenable, would
find its first application in accounting for the different sensa-
tions of which a single sense is susceptible; for example, in ex-
plaining how the sensorium receives the different impressions
of blue, red, and yellow, or of an acute and a grave tone, or of
painful and pleasurable sensations, or of the sensations of heat
and cold, or of the tastes of bitter, sweet, and acid. It is only
with this application that the hypothesis is worthy of regard:
tones of different degrees of acuteness are certainly produced by
vibrations of sonorous bodies of different degrees of rapidity; and
a slight contact of a solid body, which singly excites in a nerve
of common sensation merely the simple sensation of touch, pro-
duces in the same nerve when repeated rapidly, as the vibra-
tions of a sonorous body, the feeling of tickling; so that possibly
a pleasurable sensation, even when it arises from internal causes
independently of external influences, is due to the rapidity of
the vibrations of the nervous principle in the nerves of feeling.

The accuracy of our discrimination by means of the senses
depends on the different manner in which the conditions of our
nerves are affected by different bodies; but the preceding con-

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY 541

siderations show us the impossibility that our senses can ever
reveal to us the true nature and essence of the material world.
In our intercourse with external nature it is always our own
sensations that we become acquainted with, and from them we
form conceptions of the properties of external objects, which
may be relatively correct; but we can never submit the nature
of the objects themselves to that immediate perception to
which the states of the different parts of our own body are sub-
jected in the sensorium.

VI. The nerve of each sense seems to be capable of one deter-
minate kind of sensation only, and not of those proper to the other
organs of sense; hence one nerve of sense cannot take the place and
perform the function of the nerve of another sense.

The sensation of each organ of sense may be increased in
intensity till it become pleasurable, or till it becomes disagree-
able, without the specific nature of the sensation being altered,
or converted into that of another organ of sense. The sensation
of dazzling light is an unpleasant sensation of the organ of vi-
sion; harmony of colours, an agreeable one. Harmonious and
discordant sounds are agreeable and disagreeable sensations of
the organ of hearing. The organs of taste and smell have their
pleasant and unpleasant tastes and odours; the organ of touch
its pleasurable and painful feelings. It appears, therefore, that,
even in themost excited condition of an organ of sense, thesens-
ation preserves its specific character. It is an admitted fact
that the sensations of light, sound, taste, and odours, can be
experienced only in their respective nerves; but in the case of
common sensation this is not so evidently the case, for it is a
question whether the sensation of pain may not be felt in the
nerves of the higher senses, — whether, for example, violent
irritation of the optic nerve may not give rise to the sensation
of pain. This question is difficult of solution. There are fila-
ments of the nerves of common sensation distributed in the
nerves of the other organs of sense: the nostrils are supplied
with nerves of common sensation from the second division of
the nervus trigeminus in addition to the olfactory nerves; the
tongue has common sensibility as well as taste, and may retain

542 JOHANNES MUELLER

the one while it loses the other; the eye and organ of hearing
likewise are similarly endowed.

To determine this question, it is necessary to institute experi-
ments on the isolated nerves of special sense themselves. As far
as such experiments have hitherto gone, they favour the view
that the nerves of sense are susceptible of no other kind of sen-
sation than that peculiar to each, and are not endowed with
the faculty of common sensibility.

Among the well-attested facts of physiology, again, there is
not one to support the belief that one nerve of sense can assume
the functions of another. The exaggeration of the sense of
touch in the blind will not in these days be called seeing with the
fingers; the accounts of the power of vision by the fingers and
epigastrium, said to be possessed in the so-called magnetic
state, appear to be mere fables, and the instances in which it has
been pretended to practise it, cases of deception. The nerves of
touch are capable of no other sensation than that of touch or
feeling. Hence, also, no sounds can be heard except by the
auditory nerve; the vibrations of bodies are perceived by the
nerves of touch as mere tremours wholly different in its nature
from sound; though it is indeed even now not rare for the differ-
ent modes of action of the vibrations of bodies upon the sense
of hearing, and upon that of feeling, to be confounded. With-
out the organ of hearing with its vital endowments, there would
be no such a thing as sound in the world, but merely vibrations;
without the organ of sight, there would be no light, colour, nor
darkness, but merely a corresponding presence or absence of
the oscillations of the imponderable matter of light.

VIL. It is not known whether the essential cause of the peculiar
“energy” of each nerve of sense is seated in the nerve itself, or in the
parts of the brain and spinal cord with which it is connected; but it
is certain that the central portions of the nerves included in the
encephalon are susceptible of their peculiar sensations, inde-
pendently of the more peripheral portion of the nervous cords
which form the means of communication with the external organs
of sense.

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOLOGY 543

The specific sensibility of the individual senses to particular
stimuli, — owing to which vibrations of such rapidity or length
as to produce sound are perceived, only by the senses of hearing
and touch, and mere mechanical influences, scarcely at all by
the sense of taste, — must be a property of the nerves them-
selves; but the peculiar mode of reaction of each sense, ‘after the
excitement of its nerve, may be due to either of two conditions.
Either the nerves themselves may communicate impressions
different in quality to the sensorium, which in every instance
remains the same; or the vibrations of the nervous principle
may in every nerve be the same and yet give rise to the percep-
tion of different sensations in the sensorium, owing to the parts
of the latter with which the nerves are connected having differ-
ent properties.

The proof of either of these propositions I regard as at
present impossible.

VIII. The immediate objects of the perception of our senses are
merely particular states induced in the nerves, and felt as sensa-
tions either by the nerves themselves or by the sensorium; but inas-
much as the nerves of the senses are material bodies, and therefore
participate in the properties of matter generally occupying space,
being susceptible of vibratory motion, and capable of being changed
chemically as well as by the action of heat and electricity, they
make known to the sensorium, by virtue of thechanges thus produced
in them by external causes, not merely their own condition, but also
properties and changes of condition of external bodies. The in-
formation thus obtained by the senses concerning external nature,
varies in each sense, having a relation to the qualities or energies of
the nerve.

Qualities which are to be regarded rather as sensations or
modes of reaction of the nerves of sense, are light, colour, the
bitter and sweet tastes, pleasant and unpleasant odours, pain-
ful and pleasant impressions on the nerves of touch, cold and
warmth: properties which may belong wholly to external na-
ture are ‘‘extension,” progressive and tremulous motion, and
chemical change.

All the senses are not equally adapted to impart the idea of

544 JOHANNES MUELLER

“extension” to the sensorium. The nerve of vision and the
nerve of touch, being capable of an exact perception of this
property in themselves, make us acquainted with it in external
bodies. In the nerves of taste, the sensation of extension is less
distinct, but is not altogether deficient; thus we are capable of
distinguishing whether the seat of a bitter or sweet taste be the
tongue, the palate, or the fauces. In the sense of touch and
sight, however, the perception of space ismost acute. The retina
of the optic nerve has a structure especially adapted for this
perception; for the ends of the nervous fibres in the retina are,
as Treviranus discovered, so arranged as to be at last perpen-
dicular to its inner surface, and by their papillar extremities
form a pavement-like composite membrane. On the great num-
ber of these terminal fibrils depends the delicate power of dis-
criminating the position of bodies in space possessed by the
sense of vision; for each fibre represents a greater or less field of
the visible world, and imparts the impression of it to the sens-
orium.

The sense of touch has a much more extended sphere of ac-
tion for the perception of space than has the sense of vision; but
its perception of this quality of external bodies is much less ac-
curate; and considerable portions of the surface of the body or
skin are in many instances represented in the sensorium by
very few nervous fibres; hence, in many parts of the surface,
impressions on two points considerably removed from each
other are, as E. H. Weber has shown, felt as one impression.
Although the senses of vision, touch, and taste are all capable
of perceiving the property of extension in space, yet the quality
of the sensations which give the conception of extension is
different in each of these senses; the sensation in one is an image
of which the essential quality is light; in another, a perception
of extension with any of the modifications of the quality of
touch, between pain, cold, heat, and pleasure; in the third, a
perception of extension with the quality of taste.

e e e e ° ° e e e » fe # 6

RUDOLF HERMANN LOTZE
(1817-1881)

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY

Translated from the German * by
GEORGE TRUMBULL LADD,

CHAPTER IV. THE THEORY OF LOCAL SIGNS

§ 27. Metaphysic raises the doubt, whether space is actually
extended and we, together with ‘Things,’ are contained in it;
whether — just the reverse — the whole spatial world is not
rather only a form of intuition in us.

This question we for the present leave one side, and in the
meantime take our point of departure from the assumption, pre-
viously alluded to, with which we are all conversant. But since
Things in space can never become the object of our perception
by virtue of their bare existence, and, on the contrary, become
such solely through the effects which they exercise upon us, the
question arises: How do the Things by their influence upon us
bring it to pass, that we are compelled mentally to represent
them in the same reciprocal position in space, in which they
actually exist outside of us?

§ 28. In the case of the eye, nature has devised a painstaking
structure, such that the rays of light which come from a lumin-
ous point are collected again at one point on the retina, and
that the different points of the image, which originate here, as-
sume the same reciprocal relation toward one another as the

* From H. Lotze’s Grundziige der Psychologie: Dictate aus den Vorlesungen.
Lpz. 1881; 3 Aufl. 1884. Reprinted from H. Lotze’s Outlines of Psychology:

Dictated Portions of the Lectures. Translated and edited by George T. Ladd.
Boston: Ginn & Co. 1886.

546 RUDOLPH HERMANN LOTZE

points of the object outside of us, to which they correspond.
Without doubt, this so-called ‘image of the object,’ so care-
fully prepared, is an indispensable condition of our being able
mentally to present the object in its true form and position.
But it is the source of all the errors in this matter to believe
that the bare existence of this image, without anything else,
explains our idea of the position of its parts. The entire image
is essentially nothing but a representative of the external ob-
ject, transposed into the interior of the organ of sense; and how
we know and experience aught of it, is now just as much the
question as the question previously was, — How can we per-
ceive the external object?

§ 29. If one wished to conceive of the soul itself as an ex-
tended being, then the impressions on the retina would, of
course, be able to transplant themselves, with all their geo-
metrical regularity, to the soul. One point of the soul would be
excited as green, the other red, a third yellow; and these three
would lie at the corners of a triangle precisely in the same way
as the three corresponding excitations on the retina.

It is also obvious, however, that there is no real gain in all
this. The bare fact that three different points of the soul are
excited is, primarily, a disconnected three-fold fact. A know-
ledge thereof, however, and therefore a knowledge of this three-
foldness, and of the reciprocal positions of the three points, is,
nevertheless, by no means given in this way: but such know-
ledge could be brought about only by means of a uniting and
relating activity; and this itself, like every activity, would be
perfectly foreign to all predicates of extension and magnitudes
in space.

§ 30. The same thought is more immediately obvious if we
surrender this useless notion of the soul being extended, and
consider it as a supersensible essence, which, in case we wish to
bring it at all into connection with spatial determinations,
could be represented only as an indivisible point.

On making the transition into this indivisible point, the

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 547

manifold impressions must obviously lose all the geometrical
relations which they might still have upon the extended retina,
— just in the same way as the rays of light, which converge at
the single focus of a lens, are not side by side with one another,
but only all together, in this point. Beyond the focus, the rays
diverge in the same order as that in which they entered it. No-
thing analogous to this, however, happens in our consciousness;
that is to say, the many impressions, which were previously
side by side with one another, do not actually again separate
from each other; but, instead of this, the aforesaid activity of
mental presentation simply occurs, and it transposes their
images to different places in the space that is only ‘intuited’
by it.

Here, too, the previous observation holds good: The mental
presentation zs not that which it presents; and the idea of a
point on the left does not lie on the left of the idea of a point on
the right; but of one mental presentation, which in itself has no
spatial properties whatever, both points are merely themselves
so presented before the mind, as though one lay to the left, the
other to the right.

§ 31. The following result now stands before us: Many im-
pressions exist conjointly in the soul, although not spatially
side by side with one another; but they are merely together in
the same way as the synchronous tones of-a chord; that is to
say, qualitatively different, but not side by side with, above
or below, one another. Notwithstanding, the mental presenta-
tion of a spatial order must be produced again from these
impressions. The question is, therefore, in the first place, to be
raised: How in general does the soul come to apprehend these
impressions, not in the form in which they actually are, —to
wit, non-spatia], — but as they are not, in a spatial juxta-
position?

The satisfactory reason obviously cannot lie in the impres-
sions themselves, but must lie solely in the nature of the soul in
which they appear, and upon which they themselves act sim-
ply as stimuli.

548 RUDOLPH HERMANN LOTZE

On this account, it is customary to ascribe to the soul this
tendency to form an intuition of space, as an originally inborn
capacity. And indeed we are compelled to rest satisfied with
this. All the ‘deductions’ of space, hitherto attempted, which
have tried to show on what ground it is necessary to the nature
of the soul to develop this intuition of space, have utterly
failed of success. Nor is there any reason to complain over this
matter; for the simplest modes of the experience of the soul
must always merely be recognized as given facts, — just as, for
example, no one seriously asks why we only hear, and do not
rather taste, the waves of air.

§ 32. The second question is much more important. Let it
be assumed that the soul once for all lies under the necessity of
mentally presenting a certain manifold as in juxtaposition in
space; How does it come to localize every individual impression
at a definite place in the space intuited by it, in such manner
that the entire image thus intuited is similar to the external
object which acted on the eye?

Obviously, such a clue must lie in the impressions them-
selves. The simple quality of the sensation ‘green’ or ‘red’ does
not, however, contain it; for every such color can in turn ap-
pear at every point in space, and on this account does not, of
itself, require always to be referred to the one definite point.

We now remind ourselves, however, that the carefulness with
which the regular position on the retina of the particular excita-
tions is secured, cannot be without a purpose. To be'sure, an
impression is not seen at a definite point on account of its being
situated at such point; but it may perhaps by means of this
definite situation act on the soul otherwise than if it were else-
where situated.

Accordingly we conceive of this in the following way: Every
impression of color r— for example, red — produces on all
places of the retina, which it reaches, the same sensation of red-
ness. In addition to this, however, it produces on each of these
different places, a, b, c, a certain accessory impression, a, 8, y,
which is independent of the nature of the color seen, and de-

OUTLINES OF. PSYCHOLOGY 549

pendent merely on the nature of the place excited. This second
local impression would therefore be associated with every im-
pression of color 7,in such manner that ra signifies a red that
acts on the point a, r@ signifies the same red in case it acts on the
point 6. These associated accessory impressions would, accord-
ingly, render for the soul the clue, by following which it trans-
poses the same red, now to one, now to another spot, or simul-
taneously to different spots in the space intuited by it.

In order, however, that this may take place in a methodical
way, these accessory impressions must be completely different
from the main impressions, the colors, and must not disturb
the latter. They must be, however, not merely of the same
kind among themselves, but wholly definite members of a
series or a system of series; so that for every impression 7
there may be assigned, by the aid of this adjoined ‘local sign,’
not merely a particular, but a quite definite spot among all the
rest of the impressions.

§ 33. The foregoing is the theory of ‘Local Signs.’ Their
fundamental thought consists in this, that all spatial differ-
ences and relations among the impressions on the retina must
be compensated for by corresponding non-spatial and merely
intensive relations among’the impressions which exist together
without space-form in the soul; and that from them in reverse
order there must arise, not a new actual arrangement of these
impressions in extension, but only the mental presentation of
such an arrangement in us. To such an extent do we hold this
principle to be a necessary one.

On the contrary, only hypotheses are possible in order to
answer the question, In what do those accessory impressions
requisite consist, so far as the sense of sight is concerned? We
propose the following conjecture: —

In case a bright light falls upon a lateral part of the retina,
on which — as is well known — the sensitiveness to impressions
is more obtuse than in the middle of the retina, then there fol-
lows a rotation of the eye until the most sensitive middle part
of the retina, as the receptive organ, is brought beneath this

550 RUDOLPH HERMANN LOTZE

light: we are accustomed to style this the “fixation of vision”
upon the aforesaid light. Such motion happens involuntarily,
without any original cognition of its purpose, and uniformly
without cognition of the means by which it is brought about.
We may therefore reckon it among the so-called reflex motions,
which originate by means of an excitation of one nerve, that
serves at other times for sensation, being transplanted to motor
nerves without any further assistance from the soul and in ac-
cordance with the pre-existing anatomical connections; and
these latter nerves being therefore stimulated to execute a
definite motion in a perfectly mechanical way. Now in order to
execute such a rotation of the eye as serves the purpose previ-
ously alluded to, every single spot in the retina, in case it is
stimulated, must occasion a magnitude and direction of the
aforesaid rotation peculiar to it alone. But at the same time all
these rotations of the eye would be perfectly comparable mo-
tions, and, of course, members of a system of series that are
graded according to magnitude and direction.

§ 34. The application of the foregoing hypothesis (many
more minute particular questions being disregarded) we con-
ceive of as follows: — In case a bright light falls upon a lateral
point P of a retina, which has not yet had any sensation of light
whatever, then there arises, in consequence of the connection in
the excitation of the nerves, such a rotation of the eye as that,
instead of the place P, the place £ of clearest vision is brought
beneath the approaching stimulus of the light. Now while the
eye is passing through the arc PE, the soul receives at each
instant a feeling of its momentary position, — a feeling of the
same kind as that by which we are, when in the dark, informed
of the position of our limbs. To the arc PE there corresponds
then a series of constantly changing feelings of position, the .
first member of which we call 7, and the last of which we
call e.

If now, in a second instance, the place P is again stimulated
by the light, then there originates not simply the rotation PE
for a second time, but the initial member of the series of feeling

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 551

of position 7, reproduces in memory the entire series associated
with it, we; and this series of mental presentations is independ-
ent of the fact that at the same time also the rotation of the eye
PE actually follows.

Exactly the same thing would hold good of another point R;
only the arc RE, the series of feelings pe, and also the initial
member of the series, p, would have other values.

Now finally, in case it came about that both places, P and R,
were simultaneously stimulated with an equal intensity, and
that the arcs PE and RE were equal but in opposite directions
to each other, then the actual rotation of the eye PE and RE
could not take place; on the other hand, the excitation upon
the places P and RK is nevertheless not without effect; each pro-
duces the series of feelings of position belonging to it, — re-
spectively, 7e and pe. Although therefore the eye does not now
move, yet there is connected with every excitation of the places
P and R the mental presentation of the magnitude and of the
qualitative peculiarity of a series of changes, which conscious-
ness or the common feeling would have to experience, in order
that these excitations may fall upon the place of clearest
vision, or, according to the customary expression, in the line of
vision.

And now we assert that to see anything ‘to the right’ or ‘to
the left’ of this line of vision means nothing more than this, to
be conscious of the magnitude of the achievement which would
be necessary to bring the object into this line.

§ 35. By the foregoing considerations nothing further would
be established than the relative position of the single colored
points in the field of vision. The entire image, on the contrary,
would still have no place at all in a yet larger space; indeed,
even the mental presentation of such a place would as yet have
no existence.

Now this image first attains a place with reference to the eye,
the repeated opening and closing of which, since it can become
known to us in another way, is the condition of its existence or
non-existence. That is to say, the visible world is im front before

552 RUDOLPH HERMANN LOTZE

our eyes. What is behind us not merely has no existence what-
ever for us, but we do not once know that there is anything
which should be called ‘behind.’

The motions of the body lead us further. If the field of vision
in a position of rest contains from left to right the images a bc,
and we then turn ourselves to the right upon our axis, a van-
ishes, but d appears on the right, and therefore the image
bed, cde, def, . . . xyz, yza, zab, abc, succeed in order. As a
result of such recurrence of the images with which we began,
the two following thoughts originate; namely, that the visible
world of objects exists in a closed circuit of extension about us,
and that the alteration of our own position, which we perceive
by means of the changing feelings of position while turning,
depends upon an alteration of our relation to this immovable
world of objects, — that is to say, upon a motion.

It is easily understood that the mental picture of a spherical
extension originates from the aforesaid mental picture of a
closed horizon by means of repeatedly turning in a similar way
in various other directions.

§ 36. But, nevertheless, this spherical surface also would
always have only a superficial extension no intimation would
as yet exist of a depth to space.

Now the mental presentation, to the ‘effect that something
like a third dimension of space in general exists, cannot origin-
ate of itself, but only through the experience which we have in
case we move about among the visible objects. From the mani-
fold displacements which the particular visual images experi-
ence, in a manner that is tedious to describe but very easy to
imagine, we gain the impression, that each line in an image
originally seen is the beginning of new surfaces which do not
coincide with that previously seen, but which lead out into this
space, now extended on all sides, to greater or less distances
from the line.

Another question to be treated subsequently is this: By what
means do we estimate the different magnitudes of the distance
into this depth of space?

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 553

§ 37. The crossing of the rays of light in the narrow opening
of the pupil is the cause of the image of the upper points of the
object being formed beneath, that of the lower points above on
the retina; and of the whole picture having therefore a position
the reverse of the object. But it is a prejudice on this account
to consider seeing in inverse position to be natural, and seeing
in upright position to be mysterious. Like every geometrical
property of the image, so this one of its position, too, on passing
into consciousness, is completely lost; and the position in which
we see things is in no way prejudiced by the aforesaid position
of the image on the retina.

Now, however, in order that we may be able to ascribe to
objects a position at all, in order therefore that the expressions
‘above,’ ‘below,’ ‘upright,’ and ‘inverted,’ may have a mean-
ing, we must have, independent of all sensation by sight, a men-
tal picture of a space in which the entire content of the field of
vision shall be arranged, and in which ‘above’ and ‘below’ are
two qualitatively opposite and, on this account, not exchange-
able directions.

The muscular feeling affords us such a mental presentation.
‘Below’ is the place toward which the direction of gravity
moves; ‘above,’ the opposite. Both directions are distinguished
perfectly for us by means of an immediate feeling; and, on this
account, we are never deceived even in the dark about the posi-
tion and situation of our body.

Accordingly we see objects ‘upright’ in case the lower points
of the object are reached by one and the same movement of the
eyes simultaneously with those points of our own body which
are ‘below’ according to the testimony of the aforesaid muscu-
lar feeling; and the upper points by a movement which, accord-
ing to the same testimony, renders visible simultaneously the
upper parts of our own selves.

Now it is exactly such agreement that is secured in our eye, in
which the axis lies in front of the sensitive retina, by means of
the inverted position of the retinal image. In an other eye in
which the sensitive surface should be placed in front of the axis,
and yet the greatest sensitiveness also should appear in the

ss4 RUDOLPH HERMANN LOTZE

middle portion of that surface, the retinal image would have to
stand upright to serve the same purpose.

§ 38. The final and valid answer to the question, why we
have single vision with two eyes, is not to be given. As is well
known, it does not always happen. The rather must two im-
pressions fall on two quite definite points of the retina in order
to coalesce. We see double, on the contrary, if they fall on
other points. Naturally, we shall say: The two places which
belong together would have to impart like local signs to their
impressions, and thereby render them indistinguishable; but we
are not able to demonstrate in what manner this postulate is
fulfilled. Physiology, too, in the last analysis, satisfies itself
with a mere term for the fact; it calls ‘identical’ those places in
both retinas which give one simple impression, and ‘non-
identical’ those which give a double impression.

§ 39. Irritations of the skin we naturally refer at once to the
place of the skin on which we see them acting. But in case of
their repetition, when we are not able to see them, we have no
assistance from remembering them; for the most ordinary
stimuli have already in the course of our life touched all pos-
sible places of the skin, and could therefore now as well be re-
ferred to one place as to another. In order that they may be
correctly localized, they would have at every instant to tell us
anew where they belong; that is to say, there must be attached
to the main impression (impact, pressure, heat or cold) an
auxiliary impression which is independent of the latter and, on
the contrary, dependent on the place of the skin that is
irritated.

The skin can supply such local signs; for since it is connected
without interruption, a single point of it cannot be irritated at
all, without the surrounding portion experiencing a displacement,
pulling, stretching, or concussion of some kind. But, further,
since the skin possesses at different places a different thickness,
different tension or liability to displacement, — extends some-
times above the firm surfaces of the bones, sometimes over the

OUTLINES OF. PSYCHOLOGY 555

flesh of the muscles, sometimes over cavities; since, moreover,
the members being manifold, these relations change from one
stretch of skin to another; therefore the aforesaid sum of sec-
ondary effects around the point irritated will be different for
each one from the remainder; and such effects, if they are taken
up by the nerve-endings and act on consciousness, may occa-
sion the feelings so difficult to describe, according to which we
distinguish a contact at one place from the same contact at
another.

It cannot be said, however, that each point of the skin has its
special local sign. It is known from the investigations of E. H.
Weber, that on the margin of the lips, the tip of the tongue, the
tips of the fingers, being touched in two places (by the points of
a pair of compasses) can be distinguished as two at an interval
of only 3 line; while there are places on the arms, legs, and on
the back, which require for making the distinction a distance
between them of as much as 20 lines. We interpret this in the
following way. Where the structure of the skin changes little
for Jong stretches, the local signs also alter only a little from
point to point. And if two stimuli act simultaneously, and
accordingly a reciprocal disturbance of these secondary effects
occurs, they will be undistinguishable; on the contrary, in cases
where both stimuli act successively, and therefore the aforesaid
disturbance ceases, both are still frequently distinguishable.
On the other hand, we know nothing further to allege as to how
the extraordinary sensitiveness — for example — of the lips is
occasioned.

§ 40. The preceding statement merely explains the possibil-
ity of distinguishing impressions made at different places; but
each impression must also be referred to the definite place at
which it acts.

This is easy for one who sees, since he already possesses a pic-
ture of the surface of his own body; and, on this account, he
now by means of the unchanging local sign, even in the dark,
translates each stimulus which he has once seen act on a definite
place, to the same place in this picture of the body that is men-

550 RUDOLPH HERMANN LOTZE

tally presented before him. One born blind would be com-
pelled to construct such a picture,first by means of the sense of
touch; and this naturally is accomplished through motions of
the tactual members and by estimating the distances which
they would have to travel in order to reach from contact at the
point a to contact at the other point b. It is to be considered,
however that these motions — which in this case are not seen —
are perceivable only by so-called muscular feelings; — that is
to say by feelings which in themselves are merely certain
species of the way we feel, and do not of themselves at all
indicate the motions which are in fact the causes of them.
Now it cannot be described, how it is that this interpretation
of the muscular feelings actually originates in the case of those
born blind; but the helps which lead to it are very probably
found in the fact, that the sense of touch as well as the eye can
receive many impressions simultaneously, and that, in case of a
movement, the previous impression does not vanish without
trace and have its place taken by a wholly new one; but that, in
the manner previously alleged, the combinations adc, bcd, etc.,
follow one another, and therefore some part in common is
always left over for the next two impressions. By this alone
does it.seem possible to awaken the idea that the same occur-
rence, from which the series of changeable muscular feelings
originates for us, consists in an alteration of our relation to a
series of objects previously existent side by side and to be found
arranged in a definite order; it consists, therefore, in a motion.

§ 41. It is questionable whether the mental picture of space
which one born blind attains solely by the sense of touch will be
altogether like that of one who sees; it is rather to be assumed
that a much less intuitable system of mental presentations of
time, of the magnitude of motion, and of the exertion which is
needed in order to reach from contact at one point to that at
another, takes the place of the clear, easy, and at once all-com-
prehending intuition, with which he who sees is endowed.

ERNST HEINRICH WEBER
(1795-1878)

THE SENSE OF TOUCH AND THE
COMMON FEELING

Translated from the German* by
BENJAMIN RAND

WEBER’S LAW +

CONCERNING THE SMALLEST PERCEPTIBLE DIFFERENCES OF
WEIGHTS WHICH WE CAN DISTINGUISH BY THE SENSE OF
ToucuH, OF THE LENGTH OF LINES WHICH WE CAN DISTIN-
GUISH BY SIGHT, AND OF TONES WHICH WE CAN DISTINGUISH
BY HEARING

THE smallest perceptible difference between two weights,
which we can distinguish by the feeling of muscular exertion,
appears according to my experiments to be that between
weights which stand approximately in the relation of 39 to 4o:
that is to say, of which one is about 1-40 heavier than the
other. By means of the feeling of pressure, which two weights
make upon our skin, all we are able to distinguish is a differ-
ence of weight that amounts to only 1-30, so that the weights
accordingly stand in the relation of 29 to 30.

* From Der Tastsinn und das Gemeingefiihl in R. Wagner’s Handworterbuch
der Physiologie, Braunschweig, 1846, iii, 2; [separately,] Leipzig, 1849; ib., 1851;
4b., 1905. i

{ The first formulation of what is known as Weber’s Law was made by Weber
in 1834 in a monograph entitled De tactu. It reads as follows:

“In comparing objects and observing the distinction between them, we per-
ceive not the difference between the objects, but the ratio of this difference to the
magnitude of the objects compared. If we are comparing by touch two weights,
the one of 30 and the other of 29 half-ounces, the difference is not more easily
perceived than that between weights of 30 and 29 drachms. . . . Since the dis-

558 ERNST HEINRICH WEBER

Tf we look at one line after another, any one who possesses a
very exceptional visual discrimination can according to my
experiments discover a difference between two lines whose
lengths are related as 50:51, or even aS 100:101. Those who
have a less delicate visual discrimination distinguish lines,
which are separated from one another by 1-25 of their length.
The smallest perceptible difference of the pitch of two tones,
(which are really in unison), that a musician perceives, if he
hears two tones successively, is according to Delezenne! 1-4
Komma (81-80) 1-4. A lover of music according to him distin-
guishes only about 1-2 Komma (81-80) 1-2. If the tones are
heard simultaneously we cannot, according to Delezenne’s
experiments, perceive such small tonal differences. 1-4 Komma
is nearly the relation of 321 :322, but 1-2 Komma is nearly the
relation of 160:161.

tinction is not perceived more easily in the former case than in the latter, it is
clear that not the weights of the differences but their ratios are perceived. .. .
Experience has taught us that apt and practised o’s sense the difference be-
tween weights, if it is not less than the thirtieth part of the heavier weight, and
that the same o’s perceive the difference not less easily, if drachms are put in the
place of half-ounces. ,

“ That which I have set forth with regard to weights compared by touch holds
also of lines to be compared by sight. For, whether you compare longer or shorter
lines, you will find that the difference is not sensed by most 0’s if the second line
is less by a hundredth part. . . . The length in which the distinction resides,
therefore, although [in the case of lines of 50 and 50.5 mm.] it is twice as small
[as it is in the case of lines of 100 and 101 mm.], is nevertheless no less easily
apprehended, for the reason that in both cases the difference of the compared
lines is one hundredth of the longer line.

“‘T have made no experiments upon comparison of tones by the ear. [Dele-
zenne, however, determined the j. n. d. of the b of 240 vs.] As this author does
not say that this difference is discriminated less easily in deeper, more easily in
higher tones, and as I have never heard that a difference is more easily perceived
in higher tones, . . . I imagine that in audition also not the absolute difference
between the vibrations of two tones, but the relative compared with the number
of vibrations of the tones is discriminated.

“The observation, confirmed in several departments of sense, that in ob-
serving the distinction between objects we perceive not the absolute but the rela-
tive differences, has again and again impelled me to investigate the cause of this
phenomenon; and I hope that when this cause is sufficiently understood, we shall
be able to judge more correctly regarding the nature of the senses ” (172 fi.).
Translation in E. B. Titchener’s Experimental Psychology, ii, part ii, p. xvi.

_? Delezenne in Recueil des Travaux de la soc. des sci. de Lille, 1827.

THE SENSE OF TOUCH 559

T have shown that the result in the determinations of weight
is the same, whether one takes ounces or half ounces; for it
does not depend upon the number of grains that form the
increment of weight, but depends on the fact that this incre-
ment makes up the thirtieth or fiftieth [should be fortieth] part
of the weight which we are comparing with the second weight.
This likewise holds true of the comparison of the length of two
lines and of the pitch of two tones. It makes no difference
whether we compare lines that are, say, two inches or one inch
long, if we examine them successively, and can see them lying
parallel to each other; and yet the extent by which the one line
exceeds the other is in the former case twice as great as in the
latter. To be sure, if both lines lie close together and parallel,
we compare only the ends of the lines to discover how much
the one line exceeds the other; and in this test the question is
only how great that length of line which overlaps the other
really is, and how near the two lines lie to one another.

So too in the comparison of the pitch of two tones, it does
not matter whether the two tones are seven tonal stops |[i.e. an
octave] higher or lower, provided only they do not lie at the end
of the tonal series, where the exact discrimination of small
tonal differences becomes more difficult. Here again, therefore,
it is not a question of the number of vibrations, by which the
one tone exceeds the other, but of the relation of the numbers of
the vibrations of the two tones which we are comparing. If we
counted the vibrations of the two tones it would be conceivable,
that we should pay attention only to the number of vibrations
by which one tone exceeds the other. If we fix the eyes first
upon one line and afterwards upon a second, and thus permit
both to be pictured successively upon the most sensitive parts
of the retina, we should be inclined to suppose, that we com-
pared the traces of the impression which the first image left,
with the impression which the second image made upon the
same parts of the retina, and that we thereby perceived how
much the second image exceeds the first, and conversely. For
this is the way we compare two scale-units: we place one upon
the other, so that they coincide, and thus perceive how much

560 ERNST HEINRICH WEBER

the one exceeds the other. From the fact, that we do not em-
ploy this method which is so very advantageous, it seems to
follow, that we are unable to employ it, and that therefore the
preceding impression left behind no such trace upon the retina,
or in the brain, as would permit of comparison in the manner
mentioned with succeeding impressions. That it is possible
for us to proceed otherwise in the comparison of the length of
two lines appears from the fact, that we can compare two lines,
which are longer than we can picture at once in their en-
tirety on the most sensitive part of the retina. In this case we
must move the eye and thereby cause the different parts of the
same line to be pictured successively upon the same parts of the
retina. Under these circumstances we must take account of
the movement of the eye, and only thus do we form an idea of
the length of the lines. Were the impressions of visible things,
which we preserve in memory, traces, which the sensuous
impressions left behind in the brain, and whose spatial relations
corresponded to the spatial relations of the sensuous impres-
sions, and were thus so to speak photographs of the same, it
would be difficult to remember a figure, which is larger than
could be pictured at once wholly upon the sensitive part of the
retina. It appears to me, indeed, as if a figure, which we can
survey at a single glance, impressed itself better upon our
memory and our imagination, than a figure, which we can
survey only successively by moving the eyes; but we can never-
theless represent also the former by means of the imagination.
But in this case the representation of the whole figure seems to
be composed by us of the parts which we perceive all at once.

If we compare two lines, which are 20 and 21 Linien [i.e. 1-10
of an inch] long, the latter is 1-20 longer, but the absolute dif-
ference of length amounts to 1 Linie. If, on the other hand, we
compare two lines, which are 1 Linie and 1.05 Linie long,
the difference amounts also to 1-20, but the line is only 1-20
longer than the other. Consequently in the latter case the abso-
lute difference is 20 times smaller. But 1-20 Linie is a size like
a fine pinhole which lies at the very threshold of vision. The
smallest possible point that we are able to see, is one whose di-

THE SENSE OF TOUCH 561

ameter amounts to 1-20 Limie, and yet one who has a very
good visual discrimination can distinguish in respect to their
length two lines of which one is 1-20 Linie longer than the other.
Two observers, before whom I placed such lines, both distin-
guished the longer from the shorter, and their visual discrimi-
nation extended even farther. I myself distinguished two lines,
whose relative difference of length amounted to 1-20, and of
which the one was between 1-17 and 1-18 longer than the
other. The apprehension of the relations of whole magnitudes,
without our having measured the magnitudes by a smaller
scale-unit, and without our having ascertained the absolute dif-
ference between them, is a most interesting psychological phe-
nomenon. In music we apprehend the relations of tone, without
knowing their rate of vibration li.e., their absolute pitch]; in
architecture, the relation of spatial magnitudes, without hav-
ing determined them by inches; and in the same way we ap-
prehend the magnitudes of sensation or of force in the. com-
parison of weights. ‘

GUSTAV THEODOR FECHNER
(1801-1887)

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOPHYSICS

Translated from the German * by
HERBERT SIDNEY LANGFELD

VII. THE MEASUREMENT OF SENSATION

s

WEBER’S law, that equal relative increments of stimuli are
proportional to equal increments of sensation, is, in considera-
tion of its generality and the wide limits within which it is abso-
Jutely or approximately valid, to be considered fundamental
for psychic measurement. There are, however, limits to its
validity as well as complications, which we shall have carefully
to examine later. Yet even where this law ceases to be valid or
absolute, the principle of psychic measurement continues to
hold, inasmuch as any other relation between constant incre-
ments of sensation and variable increments of stimulus, even
though it is arrived at empirically and expressed by an empir-
ical formula, may serve equally well as the fundamental basis for
psychic measurement, and indeed must serve as such in those
parts of the stimulus scale where Weber’s law loses its validity.
In fact such a law, as well as Weber’s law, will furnish a differ-
ential formula from which may be derived an integral formula
containing an expression for the measurement of sensation.

This is a fundamental point of view, in which Weber’s law,
with its limitations, appears, not as limiting the application of
psychic measurement, but as restricted in its own application
toward that end and beyond which application the general

* From G. F. Fechner’s Elemente der Psychophysik, Leipzig, 1860; unverand.
Aufl, 1889,

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOPHYSICS 563

principle of psychic measurement nevertheless continues to hold.
It is not that the principle depends for its validity upon
Weber’s law, but merely that the application of the law is
involved in the principle.

Accordingly investigation in the interest of the greatest
possible generalization of psychic measurement has:not essen-
tially to commence with the greatest possible generalization of
Weber’s law, which might easily produce the questionable in-
clination to generalize the law beyond its natural limitation, or
which might call forth the objection that the law was general-
ized beyond these limits solely in the interest of psychic meas-
urement; but rather it may quite freely be asked how far
Weber’s law is applicable, and how far not; for the three
methods which are used in psychic measurement are applicable
even when Weber’s law is not, and where these methods are
applicable psychic measurement is possible.

In short, Weber’s law forms merely the basis for the most
numerous and important applications of psychic measurement,
but not the universal and essential one. The most general
and more fundamental basis for psychic measurement is rather
those methods by which the relation between stimulus incre-
ments and sensation increment in general is determined,
within, as well as without, the limits of Weber’s Jaw; and the
development of these methods towards ever greater precision
and perfection is the most important consideration in regard
to psychic measurement.

And yet agreat advantage would be lost, if so simple a law as
Weber’s law could not be used as an exact or at least suffi-
ciently approximate basis for psychic measurement; just such
an advantage as would be lost if we could not use the Kepler
law in astronomy, or the laws of simple refraction in the theory
of the dioptric instruments. Now there is just the same diffi-
culty with these laws as with Weber’s law. In the case of
Kepler’s law we abstract from deviations. In the case of simple
lens refraction we abstract from optical aberration. In fact
they may become invalid as soon as the simple hypotheses for
which they are true no longer exist. Yet they will always re-

564 GUSTAV THEODOR FECHNER

main decisive for the principle relation with which astronomy
and dioptrics are concerned, Weber’s law may in like manner,
entirely lose its validity, as soon as the average or normal condi-
tions under which the stimulus produces the sensation are un-
realized. It will always, however, be decisive for these particu-
lar conditions.

Further, just as in physics and astronomy, so can we also
in psychic measurement, neglect at first the irregularities and
small departures from the law in order to discover and examine
the principle relations with which the science has to do. The
existence of these exceptions must not, however, be forgotten,
inasmuch as the finer development and further progress of the
science depends upon the determination and calculation of
them, as soon as the possibility of doing so is given.

The determination of psychic measurement is a matter for
outer psychophysics and its first applications lie within its
boundary; its further applications and consequences, however,
extend necessarily into the domain of inner psychophysics and
its deeper meaning lies there. It must be remembered that the
stimulus does not cause sensation directly, but rather through
the assistance of bodily processes with which it stands in more
direct connection. The dependence, quantitatively considered
of sensation on stimulus, must finally be translated into one of
sensation on the bodily processes which directly underlie the
sensation —in short the psycho-physical processes; and the
sensation, instead of being measured by the amount of the
stimulus, will be measured by the intensity of these processes.
In order to do this, the relation of the inner process to the stim-
ulus must be known. Inasmuch as this is not a matter of direct
experience it must be deduced by some exact method. Indeed
it is possible for this entire investigation to proceed along ex-
act lines, and it cannot fail at some time or other to obtain
the success of a critical study, if one has not already reached
that goal.

Although Weber’s law, as applied to the relation of stimulus
to sensation, shows only a limited validity in the domain of
outer psychophysics, it has, as applied to the relation of sensa-

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOPHYSICS 56s

tion to kinetic energy, or as. referred to some other function of
the psycho-physical process, in all probability an unlimited
validity in the domain of inner psychophysics, in that all excep-
tions to the law which we find in the arousal of sensation by
external stimulus, are probably due to the fact that the stimu-
lus only under normal or average conditions engenders a kinetic
energy in those inner processes proportional to its own amount.
From this it may be foreseen, that this law, after it has been
restated as a relation between sensation and the psycho-
physical processes, will be as important, general, and funda-
mental for the relations of mind to body, as is the law of gravity
for the field of planetary motion. And it also has that simplicity
which we are accustomed to find in fundamental laws of
nature.

Although, then, psychic measurement depends upon
Weber’s law only within certain limitations in the domain of
outer psycho-physics, it may well get its unconditional support
from this law in the field of inner psychophysics. These are
nevertheless for the present merely opinions and expectations,
the verification of which lies in the future.

XIV. THE FUNDAMENTAL FORMULA AND THE
MEASUREMENT FORMULA

Although not as yet having a measurement for sensation, still
one can combine in an exact formula the relation expressed in
Weber’s law, — that the sensation difference remains constant
when the relative stimulus difference remains constant, — with
the law, established by the mathematical auxiliary principle,
that small sensation increments are proportional to stimu-
lus increments. Let us suppose, as has generally been done in
the attempts to preserve Weber’s law, that the difference be-
tween two stimuli, or, what is the same, the increase in one
stimulus, is very small in proportion to the stimulus itself. Let
the stimulus which is increased be called 9, the small increase
d8, where the letter dis to be considered not as a special mag-
nitude, but simply as a sign that d@ is the small increment of

566 GUSTAV THEODOR FECHNER
8. This already suggests the differential sign. The relative

stimulus increase therefore is oe On the other hand, let the

sensation which is dependent upon the stimulus 8 be called
y, and let the small increment of the sensation which results
from the increase of the stimulus by d8 be called dy, where
d again simply expresses the small increment. The terms d8
and dy are each to be considered as referring to an arbitrary
unit of their own nature.

According to the empirical Weber’s law, dy remains constant

when a remains constant, no matter what absolute values

d8 and 8 take; and according to the a priori mathematical
auxiliary principle the changes dy and d@ remain propor-
tional to one another so long as they remain very small. The two
relations may be expressed together in the following equation:
KdB
dy=— 1
B (*)

where « is a constant (dependent upon the units selected for y
and 8). In fact, if one multiplies 8d and 8 by any number, so
long as it is the same number for both, the proportion remains
constant, and with it also the sensation difference dy. This is
Weber’s law. If one doubles or triples the value of the variation
d@ without changing the initial value 8, then the value of the
change dy is also doubled or tripled. This is the mathematical
principle. The equation =e therefore entirely satisfies
both Weber’s law and this principle; and no other equation
satisfies both together. This is to be called the fundamental
formula, in that the deduction of all consequent formulas will
be based upon it.

The fundamental formula does not presuppose the measure-
ment of sensation, nor does it establish any; it simply expresses
the relation holding between small relative stimulus incre-
ments and sensation increments. In short, it is nothing more
than Weber’s law and the mathematical auxiliary principle
united and expressed in mathematical symbols.

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOPHYSICS 567

There is, however, another formula connected with this
formula by infinitesimal calculus, which expresses a general
quantitative relation between the stimulus magnitude as a
summation of stimulus increments, and the sensation magni-
tude as a summation of sensation increments, in stich a way,
that with the validity of the first formula, together with the
assumption of the fact of limen, the validity of this latter
formula is also given.

Reserving for the future a more exact deduction, I shall
attempt first to make clear in a general way the connection of
the two formulas.

One can readily see, that the relation between the increments
dy and df in the fundamental formula corresponds to the rela-
tion between the increments of a logarithm and the increments
of the corresponding number. For as one can easily convince
oneself, either from theory or from the table, the logarithm
does not increase by equal increments when the corresponding
number increases by equal increments, but rather when the
latter increases by equal relative amounts; in other words, the
increases in the logarithms remain equal, when the relative in-
creases of the numbers remain equal. Thus, for example, the
following numbers and logarithms belong together:

Number. Logarithm.
10 1.000000

re 1.0413927
100 2.000000

IIO 2.0413927
1000 3.000000

1100 3.0413927

where an increase of the number 10 by 1 brings with it just as
great an increase in the corresponding logarithm, as the increase
of the number 100 by 10 or 1000 by too. In each instance the
increase in the logarithm is 0.0413927. Further, as was already
shown in explaining the mathematical auxiliary principle, the
increases in the logarithms are proportional to the increases of

568 GUSTAV THEODOR FECHNER

the numbers, so long as they remain very small. Therefore one
can say, that Weber’s law and the mathematical auxiliary prin-
ciple are just as valid for the increases of logarithms and num-
bers in their relation to one another, as they are for the increases
of sensation and stimulus.

The fact of the threshold appears just as much in the relation
of a logarithm to its number as in the relation of sensation to
stimulus. The sensation begins with values above zero, not
with zero, but with a finite value of the stimulus — the thres-
hold; and so does the logarithm begin with values above zero,
not with a zero value of the number, but with a finite value of
the number, the value 1, inasmuch as the logarithm of 1 is
equal to zero.

If now, as was shown above, the increase of sensation and
stimulus stands in a relation similar to that of the increase of
logarithm and number, and, the point at which the sensation
begins to assume a noticeable value stands in a relation to the
stimulus similar to that which the point at which the logarithm
attains positive value stands to the number, then one may
also expect that sensation and stimulus themselves stand in a
relation to one another similar to that of logarithm to number,
which, just as the former (Sensation and stimulus) may be
regarded as made up of a sum of successive increments.

Accordingly the simplest relation between the two that we
can write is y = log 8.

In fact it will soon be shown that, provided suitable units of
sensation and stimulus are chosen, the functional relation
between both reduces to this very simple formula. Meanwhile
it is not the most genera] formula that can be derived, but one
which is only valid under the supposition of particular units of
sensation and stimulus, and we still need a direct and absolute
deduction instead of the indirect and approximate one.

The specialist sees at once how this may be attained, namely,
by treating the fundamental formula as a differential formula
and integrating it. In the following chapter one will find this
done. Here it must be supposed already carried out, and those
who are not able to follow the simple infinitesimal deduction,

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOPHYSICS — s69

must be asked to consider the result as a mathematical fact.
This result is the following functional formula between stimu-
lus and sensation, which goes by the name of the measurement
formula and which will now be further discussed:

y=« (log B-logb) —(?)
In this formula « again stands for a constant, dependent upon
the unit selected and also the logarithmic system, and } a second
constant which stands for the threshold value of the stimulus,
at which the sensation y begins and disappears.

According to the rule, that the logarithm of a quotient of two
numbers may be substituted for the difference of their logar-
ithms, . . . one can substitute for the above form of the meas-
urement formula the following, which is more convenient for
making deductions.
y=nloge

b

From this equation it follows that the sensation magnitude y
is not to be considered as a simple function of the stimulus
value @, but of its relation to the threshold value b, where the
sensation begins and disappears. This relative stimulus value,

B

5 is for the future to be called the fundamental stimulus value,

or the fundamental value of the stimulus.

Translated in words, the measurement formula reads:

The magnitude of the sensation (y) is not proportional to the
absolute value of the stimulus (8), but rather to the logarithm of
the magnitude of the stimulus, when this last is expressed in terms
of its threshold value(b), i. e. that magnitude considered as unit
at which the sensation begins and disappears. In short, it is pro-
portional to the logarithm of the fundamental stimulus value.

Before we proceed further, let us hasten to show that that
relation between stimulus and sensation, from which the meas-
urement formula is derived, may be correctly deduced in turn
from it, and that this latter thus finds its verification in so far
as these relations are found empirically. We have here at the
same time the simplest examples of the application of the meas-
urement formula. |

570 GUSTAV THEODOR FECHNER

The measurement formula is founded upon Weber’s law and
the fact of the stimulus threshold; and both must follow in turn
from it.

Now as to Weber’s law. In the form that equal increments of
sensation are proportional to relative stimulus increments, it
may be obtained by differentiating the measurement formula,
inasmuch as in this way one returns to the fundamental for-
mula, which contains the expression of the law in this form.

In the form, that equal sensation differences correspond to
equal relations of stimulus, the law may be deduced in quite an
elementary manner as follows.

Let two sensations, whose difference is to be considered, be
called y and 9’, and the corresponding stimuli 6 and 6’. Then
according to the measurement formula

y =« (log B—log 6)
y' = « (log f'— log b)
and likewise for the sensation difference
y—y' =x (log Blog 8’)
B
Bp!
y—v' =« log i

or, since log 8 — log 6’ = log

From this formula it follows, that the sensation difference y—y’
is a function of the stimulus relation a , and remains the same

no matter what values 8, & may take, so long as the relation
remains unchanged, which is the statement of Weber’s law.

In a later chapter we shall return to the above formula under
the name of the difference formula, as one of the simplest conse-
quences of the measurement formula.

As for the fact of the threshold, which is caused by the sensa-
tion having zero value not at zero but at a finite value of the
stimulus, from which point it first begins to obtain notice-
able values with increasing values of stimulus, it is so far con-
tained in the measurement formula as y does not, according
to this formula, have the value zero when 8 =o, but when 8
is equal to a finite value 6. This follows as well from equation

ELEMENTS OF PSYCHOPHYSICS — 571

(2) as (3) of the measurement formula, directly from (2), and
from (3) with the additional consideration of the fact, that

when equals b, log g equals log 1, and log 1 =0.

Naturally all deduction from Weber’s law and the fact of
the threshold will also be deductions from our measurement
formula.

It follows from the former law, that every given increment of
stimulus causes an ever decreasing increment in sensation in
proportion as the stimulus grows Jarger, and that at high values
of the stimulus it is no longer sensed, while on the other hand,
at low values it may appear exceptionally strong.

In fact the increase of a large number # by a given amount
is accompanied by a considerably smaller increase in the corre-
sponding logarithm y, than the increase of a small number 8 by
the same amount. When the number ro is increased by 10,
(that is, reaches 20), the logarithm corresponding to 10, which
is 1, is increased to 1.3010. When, however, the number 1000
is increased by ro, the logarithm corresponding to 1000, namely
3, is only increased to 3.0043. In the first case the logarithm is
increased by 1-3 of its amount, in the latter case by about 1-700.

In connection with the fact of the threshold belongs the de-
duction, that a sensation is further from the perception thres-
hold the more the stimulus sinks under its threshold value.
This distance of a sensation from the threshold, is represented in
the same manner by the negative values of y, according to our
measurement formula, as the increase above the threshold is
represented by the positive values.

In fact one sees directly from equation (2), that when £8 is
smaller than 6 and with it log 8 smaller than log 6, the sensa-
tion takes on negative values, and the same deduction follows in

equation (3), in that E becomes a proper fraction when B<,

and the logarithm of a proper fraction is negative.

In so far as sensations, which are caused by a stimulus
which is not sufficient to raise them to consciousness, are called
unconscious, and those which affect consciousness are called

572 GUSTAV THEODOR FECHNER

conscious, we may say that the unconscious sensations are
represented in our formula by negative, the conscious by posi-
tive values. We will return to this statement in a special chap-
ter (chapter 18) since it is of great importance, and perhaps not
directly evident to everyone. For the present I shall not let it
detain me longer.

According to the foregoing our measurement formula corre-
sponds to experience:

1. In the cases of equality, where a sensation difference
remains the same when the absolute intensity of the stimulus is
altered (Weber’s law).

2. In the cases of the thresholds, where the sensation itself
ceases, and where its change becomes either imperceptible or
barely perceptible. In the former case, when the sensation
reaches its lower threshold; in the latter case, when it becomes
so great that a given stimulus increase is barely noticed.

3. In the contrasting cases, between sensations which rise
above the threshold of consciousness and those that do not
reach it, —in short, conscious and unconscious sensations.
From the above the measurement formula may be considered
well founded.

In the measurement formula one has a general dependent rela-
tion between the size of the fundamental stimulus and the size of the
corresponding sensation and not one which is valid only for the
cases of equal sensations. This permits the amount of sensation to
be calculated from the relative amounts of the fundamental stimu-
lus and thus we have a measurement of sensation.

HERMANN VON HELMHOLTZ
(1821-1894)
A MANUAL OF PHYSIOLOGICAL OPTICS

Translated from the German* by
BENJAMIN RAND

THEORY OF COLOR VISION

HypotuEses. The facts to be deduced from the laws of
color-mixture, that three constituents of sensation which
proceed independently of one another are produced by exter-
nal stimulation, have received their more definite and more sig-
nificant expression in the hypotheses, which assume, that these
different constituents are excited and transmitted in different
portions of the optic nerve; but that they simultaneously attain
to consciousness, and thereby, so far as they have become
excited from the same place of the retina, they are also pecolized
in the same place of the field of vision.

Such a theory was first proposed by Thomas Young.! The
more detailed development of it is essentially conditioned by

* From H. von Helmholtz’s Handbuch der Physiologischen Optik. Leipzig,
1856-66; 2te. umgearb. Aufl. Hamb. u. Lpz. 1896.

1 Thomas Young’s theory of color vision is as follows: ‘From three simple
sensations, with their combinations, we obtain seven primitive distinctions of
colours; but the different proportions, in which they may be combined, afford a
variety of traits beyond all calculation. The three simple sensations being red,
green, and violet, the three binary combinations are yellow, consisting of red and
green; crimson, of red and violet; and blue, of green and violet; and the seventh
-in order is white light, composed by all three united. But the blue thus produced,
by combining the whole of the green and violet rays, isnot the blue of the spect-
rum, for four parts of green and one of violet make a blue differing very little
from green; while the blue of the spectrum appears to contain as much violet as
green: and itis for this reason that red and blue usually make a purple, deriving its
hue from the predominance of the violet.” Thomas Young’s A Course of Lec-
tures on Natural Philosophy. Lond. 1807, vol. I, p. 440.

374. HERMANN VON HELMHOLTZ

the fact, that its author would ascribe to the sensitive nerves of
the eye only the properties and capacities, which we positively
know as belonging to the motor nerves of men and of animals.
We have a much more favorable opportunity to discover these
latter by experiment than is the case with the nerves of sensa-
tion, since we are able comparatively easily and definitely both
to discern and to measure the finest changes of their excitation
and excitability by means of the contractions occurring in the

muscles, and their changes. What we furthermore have been

able to ascertain concerning the structure, the chemical consti-

tution, the excitability, the conductivity, and the electrical

behavior of .the sensitive nerves, harmonises so perfectly with

the corresponding behavior of the motor nerves, that funda-.
mental differences in the nature of their activity are extremely

improbable, at least so far as these do not depend upon the other

organic apparatus connected with them, upon which they exert

their influence.

Now we know in regard to motor nerves only the contrast
between the state of rest and of activity. In the former state
the nerve can remain unaltered a long time without important
chemical change or development of heat; and at the same time
the muscle dependent upon the nerve remains lax. If we stimu-
late the nerve, heat develops in it material changes, electrical
oscillations are shown, and the muscle is contracted. Ina
cut nerve-preparation the sensitiveness is quickly lost, prob-
ably on account of the expansion of the chemical constituents
necessary for activity. Under the action of atmospheric oxygen,
or better still of the arterial blood containing oxygen, the sensi-
tiveness is wholly or partially slowly restored, save that these
processes of restoration excite contractions of the muscle, or
changes of electrical relation in nerve and muscle coincident
with the activity. We are acquainted also with no external
means which can produce this process of restoration so
quickly and intensively, and which can permit it at the same
time so suddenly to appear and again to cease, as would be
necessary, if this process were to serve as the physiological
basis of a powerful sensation occurring with precision.

MANUAL OF PHYSIOLOGICAL OBJECTS 575

If we confine our assumptions concerning the development of
a theory of color vision to the properties belonging with cer-
tainty to the nerves, there is presented in fairly secure outline
the theory of Thomas Young.

The sensation of dark corresponds to the state of rest of the
optic nerve, that of colored or white light to an excitement of
it. The three simple sensations which correspond to the excite-
ment only of a single one of the three nerve systems, and from
which all the others can be composed, must correspond in the
table of colors to the three angles of the color triangle.

In order to assume the finest possible color sensations not
demonstrable by objective stimulus, it appears appropriate so
to select the angles of the color triangle that its sides include in
the closest possible way the curves of the colors of the spectrum.

Thomas Young has therefore assumed:

1. There are in the eye three kinds of nerve fibres. The ex-
citation of the first produces the sensation of red; the excitation
of the second, the sensation of green; the excitation of the
third, the sensation of violet.

2. Objective homogeneous light excites these three kinds of
fibres with an intensity which varies according to the length
of the wave. The fibres sensitive to red are excited most
strongly by light of the greatest wave-length; and those sensi-
tive to violet by light of the smallest wave-length. Neverthe-
less, it is not precluded, but rather to be assumed, for the expla-
nation of a series of phenomena, that each color of the spectrum
excites all the kinds of fibres, but with different intensity. If we
suppose in Fig. r the spectrum colors placed horizontally and in
their natural order, beginning from red R up to violet V, the
three curves may represent more or less exactly the strength
of the excitation of the three kinds of fibres: no. 1 those sensi-
tive to red; no. 2 those sensitive to green; and no. 3 those sen-
sitive to violet.

The simple red excites strongly the fibres sensitive to red,
and weakly the two other kinds of fibres; sensation: red.

The simple yellow excites moderately the fibres sensitive to
red and green, weakly the violet; sensation: red.

376 HERMANN VON HELMHOLTZ

MUN me
__ econ

UT re rrr

in!

Limi,

R O q Bi
Aone I

The simple green excites strongly the fibres sensitive to green,
much more weakly the two other kinds; sensation: green.

The simple blue excites moderately the fibres sensitive to
green and violet, weakly the red; sensation: blue.

The simple violet excites strongly the fibres which belong to
it, and weakly the others; sensation: violet.

The excitation of all the fibres of nearly equal strength gives
the sensation of white, or of whitish colors.

Perhaps it may be objected at first view to this hypothesis,
that three times the number of nerve fibres and nerve endings
must be presumed than in the older assumption, according to
which each separate nerve fibre was thought capable of trans-
mitting all kinds of chromatic excitations. But I do not believe,
that in this connection the supposition of Young is in contra-
diction with the anatomical facts. An hypothesis was previ-
ously discussed,! which explains the accuracy of sight by the
aid of a much smaller number of visual nerve fibres, than the
number of distinguishable places in the field of vision.

The choice of the three fundamental colors seems at first, as
we have observed, somewhat arbitrary. Any other three colors
might be chosen from which white can be composed. Young
was guided probably by the consideration that the colors at the
end of the spectrum appear to claim a privileged position. If we
were not to select these it would be necessary to take for one of
the fundamental colors a purple shade, and the curve which cor-

1 Helmholtz’s Hdb. d. Physiol. Optik. 2 Aufl., S. 264.

MANUAL OF PHYSIOLOGICAL OBJECTS 577

responds to it in the foregoing figure (Fig. 1), would have two
maxima: one in red, and the other in violet.

The single circumstance, which is of direct importance in the
mode of sensation and appears to give a clue for the determina-
tion of the fundamental colors, is the apparent greater color-
saturation of the red and violet; a thing which also manifests
itself, although indeed less markedly, for green. Since we style
colors the more saturated the farther they are removed from
white, we must expect that great saturation must belong partic-
ularly to those colors of the spectrum which produce most
purely the simplest sensations of color. In fact, these colors, if
they are very pure, have even with inferior brilliancy, some-
thing of an intensively glowing, almost dazzling quality.
There are especially red, violet, or blue violet flowers, e.g. of the
cameraria, whose colors display this characteristic blending of
darkness and brilliancy. Young’s hypothesis affords for this a
simple explanation. A dark color can cause an intensive excita-
tion of one of the three nerve systems, while the corresponding
bright white causes a much weaker excitation of the same. The
difference appears analogous to that between the sensation of
very hot water upon a small portion of the skin and lukewarm
water striking a greater surface.

In particular violet makes upon me this impression of a deeply

‘saturated color. But inasmuch as the strictly violet rays, even
when they occur in sunlight, are of slight intensity and are
modified by fluorescence, ultramarine blue, which has far the
advantage of greater intensity of light, produces an effect ap-
proximately equal toit. Thestrictly pure violet of the spectrum
is very little known among the laity, since the violet pigments
give nearly always the effect of a slight admixture of red, or
appear very dark. For that very reason, the shades of the ultra-
marine blue coming near to the violet excite the general atten-
tion much more, are much better known, and are designated
by a much older name, — that of blue, — than the violet strictly
so called. In addition one has in the deep ultramarine blue of
the cloudless sky a highly imposing, well known, and constant
example of this color. r

578 HERMANN VON HELMHOLTZ

In this fact I seek the reason why in former times blue has
always been regarded as the one fundamental color. And the
more recent observers, like Maxwell and A. Konig, who have
sought to determine the composition of color, have also in
part returned to it. For both of these had, to be sure, a more
definite reason in the above mentioned elevation of the curve
of the colors of the spectrum in violet.

It should still be mentioned that the Venetian school of
painters, which creates effects chiefly by the intense richness of
its color, is especially fond of putting in juxtaposition the three
colors, red, green, and violet.

Furthermore, I decidedly question the opinion expressed by
various investigators, that the need of designating primary
sensations has manifested itself in the names of the colors, and
that these might therefore give a clue for the determination of
colors. Our forefathers had before them in colors a domain of
vague distinctions. If they wanted to determine sharp degrees
of difference they had first of all to look for good old examples
of striking shade, which were everywhere known, and any-
where observable. The names for red led back to the Sanscrit
rudhira = blood, and also ‘‘red.”” From this €pv@pes, rufus,
tuber, roth, red, etc. For “blue” the Greeks have zropupeos
and xvaveos, which appear to refer to the sea; the Latins
coeruleus, from ccelum, the sky; the Germans “blau’”’; the
English, blue; the Dutch, blau; the old German, blaw; which
appear to lead to the English ‘“‘blow,” that is, the color of the
air. The names for green may be traced back to vegetation,
mpdatvos (leek-green), 7romdes (grass-green), viridis from vis,
virescere (to grow strong); German: green, English: green, refer
to “‘grow.”

The oldest designations of color were very vague: favé0s
appears to have extended from golden yellow to blue green. It
was clearly a difficult task fix in sharp degrees of difference
this vague domain. To-day even it is difficult for gifted children
to learn the names of colors. One should not infer from these
facts that the ancients were color blind.

_ That from the series of colors which may be stimulated by

‘MANUAL OF PHYSIOLOGICAL OBJECTS 579

objective light, it is impossible to select three which can be
regarded as fundamental sensations, has already been dis-
cussed. For this very reason A. Konig and C. Dieterici have
distinguished a middle section of the spectrum, the colors of
which we can no longer obtain by the mixture of the end-colors
and one of the spectrum colors lying within it. The table of
colors drawn according to the measurements of the same ob-
servers reveals the same fact in graphic representation. Just
on this account the supposition is necessary for Thomas
Young’s theory, that every color of the spectrum excites simul-
taneously, even though in different intensity, not merely one,
but two or all three, of the three nerve systems which are sensi-
tive to color. At best the hypothesis of simplicity would be
permissible for the end-colors of the spectrum, red and violet.
But precisely in the case of violet we know, that the fluores-
cence of the retina produced by the violet rays must vitiate the
sensation, and it appears to me not improbable, that the height
of the curve between F and Y, found even by Maxwell, is con-
ditioned by the fluorescence of the retina.

It further follows, that it must appear theoretically possible
to produce sensations of more saturated colors through other
conditions of excitation. That this is also practically possible,
and that this demand can be actually fulfilled by Young’s
theory, I shall have to explain in the description of after-images.

The color theory of Thomas Young, above outlined, is, as
compared with the general theory of nervous activity as it was
worked out by Johannes Miiller, a more special application of
the law of specific sensations. Corresponding to its hypotheses
the sensations of red, green, and violet would be regarded as
determined by the specific energy of sensation of the correspond-
ing three nerve systems. Any sort of excitation whatever,
which can in any degree excite the nerve system aforesaid,
would always be able to produce in it only its specific sensa-
tion. As for the cause of the particular quality of these sensa-
tions we hardly need look for it in the retina or the constitution
of its fibres, but in the activity of the central parts of the brain
associated with them.

580 HERMANN VON HELMHOLTZ

I have up to the present kept the analysis of this theory relatively
abstract in order to keep it as free as possible from farther hypothet-
ical additions. Nevertheless, there are as great advantages for the
certain understanding of such abstractions, if one tries to imagine
for oneself pictures as concrete as possible, even though these occa-
sion many a presupposition that is not directly necessary for the na-
ture of the case. In this sense I permit myself to set forth Young’s
theory in the following somewhat more manifest form. That objec-
tions to these additions do not contradict the essence of Young’s
hypothesis, I have no need to explain.

1. Three kinds of photochemically decomposible substances are
deposited in the end organs of the visual nerve fibres, which have
different sensitiveness for the different parts of the spectrum. The
three color values of the colors of the spectrum depend essentially
upon the photochemical reaction of these three substances to the
light. In the eyes of birds and reptiles besides colorless cones there
occur in fact rods with red, and rods with yellow-green, drops of oil,
which might produce a favoring of some simple light in their action
upon the back element of these formations. In the case of human
beings and other mammals nothing similar has up to the present
time been found.

2. By the disintegration of all the substances sensitive to light,
the nerve fibre laden therewith, is set into a state of excitation.
There is only one kind of activity capable of exciting sensation in
every nerve fibre which accompanies the disintegration of the
organic substance and the development of heat, as we know from
our study of the nerves of muscles. These phenomena in the three
systems of fibres are probably also thoroughly similar one to the
other. They act differently in the brain only for the reason that they
are united to different functioning parts of the brain. The nerve
fibres need here as everywhere to play only the part of conducting
wires, by which entirely similar electric currents which pass through
them can precipitate or call forth the most various activities in the
apparatus connected with the ends. These excitations of the three
systems of fibre form the above separated three elementary excita-
tions, provided always that the intensity of excitation, for which
we still have no universally valid measure, is thereby made propor-
tional to the strength of light. This does not prevent the intensity
of the elementary excitation being any involved function whatever
of the use of material or of the negative variation of the current in

MANUAL OF PHYSIOLOGICAL OBJECTS 581

the nerves, which latter phenomena might occasionally be employed
as a measure of excitation.

3. In the brain the three systems of fibres stand in alliance with
the three different functioning systems of ganglionic cells, which are
perhaps spatially so close to one another, that those corresponding
to the same parts of the retina lie close together. This appears to
follow from recent investigations concerning the influence of lesions
of the brain upon the field of vision.

EWALD HERING
(1834= 541%)
THEORY OF LIGHT SENSATION

Translated from the German * by
BENJAMIN RAND

FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF A THEORY OF
LIGHT SENSATION

$25. PREFATORY REMARKS

ALTHOUGH strictly speaking a theory of light sensation has
to consider all visual sensations, I mean here chiefly to con-
sider only the sensations of white, black, and the transitions
from one to the other, that is to say, only the colorless, or, as I
have termed them (§ 21), white-black sensations. Later, I shall
enter upon a special discussion of color-sensations in the
stricter sense of that term.

Colors, to be sure, are everywhere intermingled, and espe-
cially in the after-images of the closed eye; but I shall wholly
disregard color in all such more or less colored sensations, and
confine myself only to that which can be designated as the
whitishness or blackishness of sensation. Later it will appear,
that this special consideration of the sensations of colorless
light even has its complete theoretical justification.

The sensation of white or colorless light has been regarded as
a mixed sensation, because it is produced by a simultaneous
effect of so called complementary kinds of light upon the retina.
Nevertheless we see simultaneously in white, neither yellow and
blue, nor red and green, nor any other two complementary

* From E. Hering’s Zur Lehre vom Lichtsinne, (Sitzber. Akad. Wiss. Wien,
math.-naturw. Cl., LXVI-Lxx.) Wien. 1872-74; ib. 1878.

THEORY OF LIGHT SENSATION 583

colors, but at most the white shades off into yellow or blue, red
or green, never, however, into two complementary colors. The
designation of white, therefore, as a sensation of red and green,
or yellow and blue, or of all colors simultaneously mixed, ap-
pears inadmissible, and has indeed arisen only from the ab-
stract confusion of sensations with their causes. Not:everyone,
who has termed white a mixed sensation, meant to say that the
sensations were actually mixed, but only, that in order to excite
the sensation of white we must mix light of different wave
lengths. This sensation aroused by the simultaneous reaction
of divers kinds of rays can very well be regarded as a simple
resultant of mingled physical causes.

The Young-Helmholtz hypothesis can only in this sense be
acceptable to a certain extent. For if we were to say to a dis-
interested person, even though he had a highly developed sense
of color such as a painter has, that white is a compound sensa-
tion in which one perceives not only simultaneously, but also
with equal intensity, red, green, and violet, he would reply with
an incredulous shake of the head, or, if he felt no special respect
for the trustworthiness of science, witha smile. That three tones
of different pitch are contained in a triad, everyone hears who
is skilled in music, though only in a slight degree; but no one is
able, try as he may, to extract the sensations of red, green, and
violet, from one and the same white.

To one, who enters upon the investigation of his visual
sensations without physical or physiological presuppositions,
white is a sensation of its own kind, just as black, red, green,
yellow, and blue. Something can be combined with the white
from one or the other, or even from several of the last men-
tioned sensations so that it more or less clearly reminds us of
them. If, however, we imagine these intermingled traces of
other sensations to be absent, a sensation is left of an entirely
specific and pure quality, which decidedly gives the impression
of something simple, and which the unprejudiced sees no oc-
casion whatever to regard as compound. The same, moreover,
is quite true of the sensation of black.

Since the physiologist must deem allsensations as conditioned

584 EWALD HERING

and supported by physical processes of the nervous system,
because otherwise every further physiological investigation
would be useless, he must also accept the so-called psycho-
physical processes or movements, which correspond to the sen-
sations of black, of white, and of all transitions from one to the
other. Itis not possible to say as yet in what partof thenerv-
ous system these psychophysical processes are to be conceived
as localized. Suffice it to say, that somewhere in the nervous
apparatus of the eye and the parts of the brain standing in
functional connection therewith, the substance must be sought
with whose change or movement sensation is connected. This
substance we might designate as the psychophysical substance
of the organ of sight relative to the brain. It will be shorter to
designate it as the visual substance, because the visual sensa-
tions are connected with it and immediately dependent upon it.
Whether this visual substance is to be sought only in the brain,
or likewise in the nerves of sight, and in the retina, and in what
histological constituents of the same, — all this remains out-
side the present discussion.

It is manifest, that we can draw conclusions at first only from
the nature and course of our visual sensations in regard to the
course of the psychophysical processes, which occur in the
visual substance; for with these the sensations are to be re-
garded as immediately and legitimately connected. If we can
determine in this way to a certain extent the laws of psycho-
physical reactions in the visual substance, not until we do is it
in order for us to seek the laws of functional relation between
those psychophysical processes and the vibrations of aether.
The reverse method which proceeds from the vibrations of
aether has led heretofore to no result, so far as it has dealt not
merely with the vicissitudes of the rays of light in the optical
media, that is to say exclusively with an application of phys- |
ical optics to the eye. We know nothing at all of what takes
place after the light waves have penetrated the retina. On the
other hand we certainly obtain through numerous physical
investigations the most valuable conclusions concerning the
relations between the vibrations of aether and visual sensa-

THEORY OF LIGHT SENSATION — 58

tions. But all physiological links and especially their psycho-
physical processes have been simply ignored in these investiga-
tions, as was quite appropriate under the circumstances of a
preliminary research.

Only the psychophysical investigations, especially Fechner’s,
have a closer regard to the physiological intermediaries, espe-
cially in so far as Fechner proposed a law of functional connec-
tion between the psychophysical movement and the so called
intensity of sensations. I refer to that psychophysical law
called by Fechner’s name,” the validity of which I must chal-
lenge not merely for the sense of sight, but for the domain of all
the senses.

§ 26. THE NATURE OF THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL
PROCESSES

If we desire to form an idea of the nature of the psychophy-
sical processes, we have from the outset a choice between such
inner movements of the psychophysical, or (briefly) psychical
substance, as occur without change of chemical composition, .
and such movements asappear to be at the same time changes
of chemical composition. The physiologist of the present can
nevertheless no longer be in doubt about his decision. For the
general physiology of the nerves has sufficiently proven, that
every movement or activity of the nervous substance changes
it at once chemically; and upon the hypothesis of chemical
changes all our ideas of changes of sensitiveness, fatigue, and
recuperation after activity are based.

How Du Bois-Reymond f could propose a purely physical
hypothesis concerning processes in the nerve-fibres becomes
conceivable, when you consider that he aimed in reality only
at.the explanation of what the multiplicator testified to him
about the processes in the nerves. If he had had for the changes
of the nerve as fine a chemical reagent, as he possessed in the

* Supra, p. 570
t Cf. Emil du Bois-Reymond’s Untersuchungen tber thierische Electricitdt,
Berlin, 1848-49.

586 EWALD HERING

multiplicator an electrical one, he would then of course have
proposed a chemical hypothesis. At all events, the hypothesis
of Du Bois-Reymond does not form a conclusive objection
against my affirmation, that according to our present knowledge
the activity of the psychophysical substance is not easily con-
ceivable without simultaneous chemical changes.

The hypothesis developed in Fechner’s psychophysics, ac-
cording to which all psychophysical processes are regarded as
oscillatory movements of a substance not more exactly to be
designated as ponderable or imponderable, also cannot be
cited against the above affirmation. For first, the hypothesis
according to the whole nature of the case rests upon only an
empirical basis which up to the present is very narrow; and
secondly, although it is purely mechanical, it still permits to the
chemical processes their significance in psychical happening,
and, so to speak, includes them.

In whatever way one may regard these questions this much
is certain, that the continuous existence of chemical process is
in every living and consequently sensitive substance a fact, and
transformation is for us the most universal known characteris-
tic of living things.

So much in the way of proof for the justification by prin-
ciple of the following theory, which is related primarily to the
chemical action in the nerve substance. A definite view as to
whether we actually apprehend in this chemical action the
real psychophysical movement, or whether an intermediate
link intervenes, as it were, between this and the sensation, I do
not for the present mean to have said. Furthermore, it was by
no means my intention in this brief discussion to enter upon
a real investigation of the difficult question concerning the
nature of psychophysical movement. On the contrary, it was
intended only to show that the physiologist is perfectly right
in conceiving the life of the nerve-substance primarily as
chemical, and likewise that of the psychophysical substance,
which even, if one does not insert a new and completely un-
known link, must be wholly or partially identified with the
nerve-substance.

THEORY OF LIGHT SENSATION _ 587

§ 27. VISUAL SENSATION AS PSYCHICAL
CORRELATE OF CHEMICAL PROCESSES IN THE
VISUAL SUBSTANCE

That light occasions chemical changes in the nervous ap-
paratus of the visual organ will probably not be disputed after
what has been said. What we term fatigue and in general change
of sensitivity of this process rest according to the universal
view, here as everywhere, upon chemical change of a sensitive
substance. Fechner himself, who sought to develop farther the
theory of resonance proposed by the physicists Herschell,
Melloni, and Seebeck, for the excitation of the retina by light,
saw occasion to take account of the chemical influences of light
upon the nerve substance and to include them in his reckoning.!

The chemical processes occasioned by light in the visual
organ were first regarded as localised in the retina. But if cer-
tain parts of the brain participate in the production of visual
sensations and representations, those chemical processes of the
retina must on their part also occasion chemical changes in the
substance of the visual nerve, and these in turn in the substance
of the brain. Since, however, as already stated, we do not know
whether we have to consider the entire substance of the visual
organ, or only a part of it, and in the latter instance which part,
as the true psychophysical visual substance, we must for the
present be content with the current hypothesis, that the vibra-
tions of aether set free in general chemical changes in the nerv-
ous visual apparatus. And those changes, whether the series
of these chemical processes be long or short, whether it be com-
posed of similar or dissimilar members, lead finally to sensation.

Furthermore, whatever ideas of the nature and place of the
processes occurring in the visual organ investigators enter-
tained, one thing was lacking to all: viz., they merely conceived
the sensations of bright or white—color here too I entirely dis-
regard — as conditioned by and based upon certain changes of
the visual substance; the sensation of dark or black in reference

1 Psychophysik, u. Theil, § 283,

588 EWALD HERING

to its physiological or psychophysical correlate was entirely
neglected. How this came about, and to what contradictions
this onesided consideration of the sensation of brightness led, I
have more fully set forth in my foregoing chapter (§ 21-23).
The facts there developed compel us henceforth to abandon
this onesided attitude in the investigation of the visual sensa-
tions, and to give an equal consideration to the two chief varia-
bles in visual sensation, the dark or black, just as much as the
bright or white.

I have explained in § 21, how all sensations of the black-white
series of sensations appear related to one another in a twofold
manner, and have in common two different kinds of factors,
namely, the sensation of brightness and of darkness, the black
and the white. I have also set forth how each member of this
sensation series can be characterised by the relation in which
both these factors are contained in the given sensation. If now
we ask concerning the psychical correlates of those sensations,
and concerning the psychophysical or psychochemical processes
lying at their basis; not only does the hypothesis, that the
physical correlate of the blackest sensation is nothing further
than the lowest degree of intensity of the same process which
conditions in its highest intensity the clearest or purest white
sensation, have nothing in its favor, but even appears to be
extravagant and contradictory. For this hypothesis demands
one and the same kind of psychophysical process for two clearly
fundamentally different qualities of sensation. But our entire
psychophysics is based upon the hypothesis, that there exists
a certain parallelism between physical and psychical events,
and especially that to different qualities of sensation there cor-
respond different qualities or forms of psychophysical phe-
nomena.!

1 Although this ought to be self evident to everyone who accepts a legitimate
functional relation between psychical and physical, between sensation and nerve
process, it still has often been forgotten, and even Fechner, although heis guided
by the same presupposition, nevertheless makes, as I deem, too little application
of it. Mach styles this fundamental presupposition of the entire psychophys-
ics merely as “a heuristic principle of psychophysical research”; but it is more,
it is the conditio sine qua non of all such research, if itisto bear any fruit. Mach

THEORY OF LIGHT SENSATION — 589

If we do not desire, therefore, at the outset to introduce in
like manner into this difficult domain an hypothesis which
stands in a yet unsolved contradiction to the fundamental
presupposition of the entire science of psychophysics, and pro-
bably furnishes a bad precedent for other wholly capricious
and theoretically improbable hypotheses, we must :abandon
the present current view. And we can do this the more readily
as another hypothesis presents itself which is thoroughly in
accord with the aforementioned presupposition of psychophys-
ics, and at the same time satisfies far better than the present
theory the demands which must be taken into consideration
from the point of view of the general physiology of the nerves.
This hypothesis is the following:

To the two qualities of sensation, which we designate as white
or bright and as black or dark, correspond two different quali-
ties of chemical activity in the visual substance ; and to the
different relations of brightness or intensity, with which these
two sensations appear in single transitions between pure white
and pure black, or to the relations in which they appear mixed,
correspond the same relations of intensities of those two psycho-
physical processes.

It will be readily acknowledged after reflection, that this
hypothesis is the simplest there is, because it states the sim-
plest formula that can be conceived for the functional connec-
tion between physical and psychical phenomena.

But it also satisfies every demand that the general physio-

remarks (Uber d. Wirk, d. rauml, Vertheil. d. Lichtreizes auf die Neizhaut. Sitzungs-
ber. d. Akad. 52 Bd., 1868). ‘‘Toevery psychical there correspondsa physical, and
the reverse. To like psychical processes there correspond like physical, to unlike,
unlike. If a psychical process can be resolved in a purely psychological way into
a number of qualities a, b, c, there will correspond to these likewise an equal
number of different physical processes a, 3, y. To alldetailsof the psychical there
correspond details of the physical.” Barring the omission from the statement, of
all reference to the fact that psychophysical processes of very different size can
produce the same sensation, because it depends everywhere not upon the abso-
lute size of this process, but solely upon their reciprocal relation (cf. § 29), I can
entirely accept these words of Mach.

My theory of the spatial sense of the retina was founded upon the same princi-
ple. Mach is the only one who has concurred in its fundamental thought.

von. 1 BWVALD HERING

logy of the nerves can make. We must suppose a substance in
the nervous visual apparatus, which suffers change under the
influence of the light that falls upon it, and this change, even
though it may be characterised as physical, is nevertheless, as
the physiology of the nerves must assume, at the same time a
chemical process. If the action of the light ceases, the changed
(more or less exhausted) substance reverts sooner or later to its
original condition. This reversion can in turn be nothing but
a chemical change in the opposite direction. If the occurring
change of the excitable substance under the direct influence of
light is conceived as a partial consumption, the reversion to the
former condition must be conceived as a restitution; and if the
former is viewed as an analytic process, the latter must be
viewed as a synthetic process.

It has also been customary to designate the latter process, by
means of which the living organic substance again restores the
loss suffered by excitation or activity as assimilation, and I will
retain this expression. Now every living and excitable organic
substance forms in the excitation or activity according to
general assumption certain chemical products. The formation
of these products I will designate analogously as the process of
dissimilation.

The propositions concerning assimilation (A) and dissimila-
tion (D) just set forth are derived from the experiences of gen-
eral physiology, and particularly of the physiology of the
nerves. They have, therefore, been developed wholly inde-
pendently of our hypothesis. Granted their correctness, it is by
no means plausible, that merely the one kind of chemical
activity in the visual substance, namely dissimilation, should
have a psychophysical significance, but the other, the process
of assimilation, none. The common view, that the chemical
process taking place under the direct influence of light, namely
dissimilation, is alone perceived, is clearly onesided and unjusti-
fied. On the contrary, it appears from the outset proper to
ascribe an equal value for sensation to both kinds of chemical
process. But this leads to none other than the hypothesis above
formulated. For we need only to make this hypothesis still

THEORY OF LIGHT SENSATION sor

more precise, by saying, that the dissimilation of the visual
substance corresponds to the sensation of white or bright, and
the assimilation of the visual substance to the sensation of black
or dark ; and then the hypothesis, as I shall show, satisfies not
only the facts of sensation, but also the demands of the general
physiology of the nerves.

If my hypothesis is correct we have the means, through the
visual sensations, of observing closely the “ building up”’ process
of the visual substance, and its two principal factors, assimilation
and dissimilation. We do not, therefore, deal hereafter only with
the fact, that a complex of sensations is transmitted from the
eye to the human soul, which afterwards moulds it into present-
ations by the aid of correct or false judgments or inferences;
but what comes to consciousness as visual sensation is the
physical expression or the conscious correlate of the chemical
change of the visual substance.

We have, therefore, a test of great sensitiveness for this
chemical change, namely our consciousness. It tells us, indeed,
nothing directly concerning the nature of the chemical com-
pounds or disintegrations, but it reveals to us the whole tem-
poral process of assimilation and dissimilation, the law of their
dependence upon one another and upon the vibrations of aether,
the elevation and depression of excitability of the visual sub-
stance, and the dependence of these changes of excitability
upon assimilation and dissimilation. In this way the chapter on
visual sensations first becomes a truly integral section of
physiology, whereas heretofore it necessarily contained more
physical and philosophical, than strictly physiological dis-
cussions.

From the above hypothesis we derive, as is shown in what
follows, a complete series of propositions concerning fatigue,
excitability, chemical change of the visual substance, which are
in harmony with certain propositions of the general physiology
of the nerves; but we are able also in addition to give to those
propositions in part a-more precise expression, as well as to test
certain new propositions, which follow as the result of our
hypothesis, in regard to other excitable substances. In brief, a

592 EWALD HERING

way opens up for the further development of the general
physiology of the nerves, also of the physiology of the “ ex-
citable” substances, and finally of the doctrine of the whole
organic life. That this way is not improbable, I hope to demon-
strate in later chapters on several subjects in physiology.

We have employed our sense-perceptions so abundantly in
order to comprehend our external world, and they make it
serviceable to us; let us now employ them also in order to in-
vestigate the material activity of our own body, examining first
by their aid what we feel, not as the external objects only medi-
ately, but immediately, that is to say, the chemical change of
our nervous system.

§ 28. THE DEDUCTION OF VARIOUS COROL-
LARIES

In my fourth chapter I derived by means of an analysis of
visual sensations, independent of every physical or physiolog-
ical presupposition, the proposition, that every sensation of col-
orless light is determined by the relation of the perceptible
black to the simultaneous perceptible white in it, and that this
relation determines the quality — brightness or darkness — of
every white-black sensation.

If we now apply to this problem the hypothesis advanced in
the preceding section, we come to the further proposition that
the quality — brightness or darkness— of a sensation of
colorless light, is conditioned by the relation in which the in-
tensity or extent of dissimilation of the visual substance stands
to the intensity or degree of its simultaneous assimilation.

From this it follows further, that to the gray, which I have
designated as the middle or neutral, corresponds that condition
of the visual substance in which dissimilation and assimilation
are in equilibrium, so that the quantity of the excitable sub-
stance remains constant.

Further it follows, that in every rather bright sensation the
dissimilation is greater than the assimilation, so that the
excitable substance decreases; and the more rapidly, the greater

THEORY OF LIGHT SENSATION © 593

the relation s or the brighter the sensation is, and so much

the more, the longer it continues.

On the contrary it follows, that in every sensation, which is
darker than the middle gray, the dissimilation is smaller than
the simultaneous assimilation, so that the excitable substance
increases; and, indeed, the more rapidly, the darker the sen-
sation is, and so much the more, the longer it continues.

What now does the increase or decrease of the excitable
substance signify?

If we style all stimuli which favor the dissimilation of the
visual substance, stimuli of dissimilation or D stimuli, and if we
borrow from general physiology the proposition, that the degree
of the reaction with which an organ responds to a stimulus
depends among other things upon the quantity of excitable
substance contained in it and affected by the stimulus, we ar-
rive at the farther proposition, that the degree of the dissimila-
tion conditioned by a D stimulus (e.g., light) depends not
merely upon the degree of the stimulus, but also upon the quan-
tity of the excitable substance contained at any time in the
stimulated portions and affected by the stimulus.

The capacity of an excitable substance to become excited by
stimuli, that is, to respond to these stimuli by a definite chemi-
cal process, we term its excitability. Accordingly, we can desig-
nate the capacity of the visual substance to react upon the D
stimuli with dissimilation as its D excitability, and can now
also express the foregoing proposition as follows:

Every increase of the excitable substance conditions an en-
hancement, and every decrease a depression, of the D excita-
bility in the corresponding part of the visual organ.

It follows further, that the sensation of medium gray condi-
tions an equilibrium, every rather bright sensation a decrease,
every rather dark sensation an increase, of the D excitability of
the affected part.

If sensations of different degrees of brightness or darkness
are simultaneously produced in two places of nearest equal
D excitability, the place of the brighter (less dark) sensa-

594 EWALD HERING

tion has always a smaller D excitability at the conclusion of the
excitation, than the place of the less bright (darker) sensation;
and it makes no difference whether one or both sensations
were brighter or darker than the neutral gray. Furthermore,
the remaining difference of D excitability is so much the
greater, as the difference was greater between the brightness of
both sensations, or between the values of the two corresponding

7

relations ~ ner

Since according to what has been said the degree of dissimi-
lation is always dependent on the one hand upon the degree of
the stimulus, and upon the other hand upon the quantity of the
excitable substance present in the stimulated part, we have the
right from the outset to affirm, that the assimilation also does
not always occur with constant intensity, but that it has like-
wise a variable degree dependent upon definite conditions.

For the process of dissimilation clearly presupposes, that on
the one hand the necessary chemical conditions, that is to say,
certain substances, are present; and on the other hand certain
physical conditions, (suchas a certain temperature). According
as whatever assimilation is present in greater or less degree, it
takes place more quickly and more abundantly, or more slowly
and less abundantly. The A material necessary to assimila-
tion, present in the visual organ, which is constantly used in
assimilation and constantly renewed by the blood, can become
more or less exhausted as soon as its consumption is greater than
the simultaneous restoration from the blood. For the degree of
the assimilation probably also depends upon the quantity of
the assimilative excitable substance present at the time. From
what precedes it is already possible quite theoretically to
deduce a series of propositions concerning the enhancement or
depression of the capacity for assimilation or of the A excita-
bility, and concerning the A stimuli in contrast with the D
stimuli, etc. Nevertheless, I shall refer for the present only to
such propositions from the general nerve physiology as are
already accepted, and shall postpone a full discussion of them
until later.

THEORY OF LIGHT SENSATION — 595

§ 29. THE WEIGHT OF VISUAL SENSATIONS

If the brightness or darkness of a sensation of colorless light
depends solely upon the relation of dissimilation to the simul-
taneous assimilation, and is therefore independent of the abso-
lute magnitude of the corresponding psychophysical processes,
the question arises, what is the significance of this absolute
magnitude. Without entering here more closely into this ques-
tion, which belongs to general psychophysics, I shall endeavor
to give briefly a preliminary answer.

The absolute extent of a given psychophysical process deter-
mines the weight — to introduce here a new expression — of the
corresponding sensation. If two simultaneous psychophysical
processes of different quality lie at the basis of a sensation, as
for instance the gray, then the sum of the magnitudes of both
processes gives the weight of the resulting or mixed sensation.
The clearness, with which every single relatively simple sensa-
tion appears in such a compound sensation, depends upon the
relation in which its individual weight stands to the total weight
of the resulting or compound sensation. Thus, as we saw, the
brightness or whitishness of a gray sensation is determined by
the relation of the weight of the white sensation (or the degree
of dissimilation) to the total weight of the gray sensation, that
is, to the sum of the weights of the white and of the black sensa-
tion, (or of the degree of dissimilation and assimilation).

If a compound sensation, e.g., gray, is in itself a component of
a still more complicated compound, e.g., of gray-blue, the clear-
ness, with which the gray emerges in this sensation, depends
in turn upon the relation in which the weight of the gray sensa-
tion stands to the total-weight of the gray-blue. If, for example,
in such a sensation the blue, white, and black appear with
equal clearness, this depends upon the fact, that the blue, the
white, and the black sensation have equal weight. We can also
conceive such a sensation as composed of two parts of neutral
gray and one part of blue. The character or quality of a sensa-
tion is therefore independent of its total weight, but is deter-

506 EWALD HERING

mined by the relation of the individual weights of the simple or
relatively simple sensations composing it; and the weight of a
black-white sensation does not gain significance until it appears
with other visual sensations, or in general only so far as its
relations to the other simultaneous processes come into con-
sideration.

The well informed reader must have recognised, from what
has already been said, the general psychophysical law, from
which I proceed in opposition to Fechner. This law says,
that the purity or clearness of any sensation or presentation
depends upon the relation, in which tis weight, that is, the
degree of the corresponding psychophysical process, stands to
the total weight of all simultaneously present sensations and re-
presentations, (or however else one may denominate the psychi-
cal states), namely, to the sum of the degrees of all corresponding
psychophysical processes.

Most of the sensations, which we accept as simple, are highly complex; that
partial sensation, which has the greatest weight, gives the total sensation its
character and name. If the fragment of the total weight of a sensation,
belonging to one of its components, sinks below a certain value, we are no
longer in a position to feel these components as such. Nevertheless, a weak com-
ponent also affects a sensation and determines by its character the quality
thereof. Fechner would say the partial sensation remains “below the threshold.”
Thus every visual sensation, as I shall later seek to prove, is composed of various
simple sensations, and if I have here presented the sensations of the black-white
series as only binary sensations, it has been done provisionally in the interest of

simplicity of treatment. In black and white even the colors simultaneously per-
ceived are “ below the threshold ’’ because their relative weight is too small.

ERNST MACH
(L838 SF or)

CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE ANALYSIS OF
SENSATIONS

Translated from the German* by
C. M. WILLIAMS

THE SENSATIONS AS ELEMENTS
ANTIMETAPHYSICAL

1. THE splendid success achieved by physical science in mod-
ern times, a success which is not restricted to its own sphere
but embraces that of other sciences which employ its help, has
brought it about that physical ways of thinking and physical
modes of procedure enjoy on all hands unwonted prominence,
and that the greatest expectations are associated with their
employment. In keeping with this drift of modern inquiry,
the physiology of the senses, gradually leaving the paths which
were opened by men like Goethe, Schopenhauer, and others,
but with particular success by Johannes Miiller, has also as-
sumed an almost exclusively physical character. This tend-
ency must appear to us as not exactly the proper one, when
we reflect that physics despite its considerable development
nevertheless constitutes but a portion of a larger collective
body of knowledge, and that it is unable, with its limited in-
tellectual implements, created for limited and special purposes,
to exhaust all the subject-matter of science. Without renounc-
ing the support of physics, it is possible for the physiology of
the senses, not only to pursue its own course of development,
but also to afford to physical science itself powerful assistance;

* From Beitrige zur Analyse der Empfindungen. Jena, 1886: 4 verm. Aufl.

1903. Reprinted from E. Mach’s Contributions to the Analysis of Sensations,
translated by C. M. Williams, Chicago, The Open Court Publishing Co., 1897.

598 ERNST MACH

a point which the following simple considerations will serve to
illustrate.

2. Colors, sounds, temperatures, pressures, spaces, times,
and so forth, are connected with one another in manifold ways;
and with them are associated moods of mind, feelings, and voli-
tions. Out of this fabric, that which is relatively more fixed
and permanent stands prominently forth, engraves itself in the
memory, and expresses itself in language. Relatively greater
permanency exhibit, first, certain complexes of colors, sounds,
pressures, and so forth, connected in time and space, which
therefore receive special names, and are designated bodies.
Absolutely permanent such complexes are not.

My table is now brightly, now dimly lighted. Its tempera-
ture varies. It may receive an ink stain. One of its legs may
be broken. It may be repaired, polished, and replaced part for
part. But for me, amid all its changes, it remains the table at
which I daily write.

My friend may put on a different coat. His countenance
may assume a serious or a cheerful expression. His complex-'
ion, under the effects of light or emotion, may change. His
shape may be altered by motion, or be definitely changed. Yet
the number of the permanent features presented, compared
with the number of the gradual alterations, is always so great,
that the latter may be overlooked. It is the same friend with
whom I take my daily walk.

My coat may receive a stain, a tear. My very manner of ex-
pression shows that we are concérned here with a sum-total of
permanency, to which the new element is added and from which
that which is lacking is subsequently taken away.

Our greater intimacy with this sum-total of permanency,
and its preponderance as contrasted with the changeable,
impel us to the partly instinctive, partly voluntary and con-
scious economy of mental representation and designation, as
expressed in ordinary thought and speech. That which is
perceptually represented in a single image receives a single
designation, @ single name.

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 599

As relatively permanent, there is exhibited, further, that
complex of memories, moods, and feelings, joined to a particu-
lar body (the human body), which is denominated the “I” or
“Ego.” I may be engaged upon this or that subject, I may be
quiet or animated, excited or ill-humored. Yet, pathological
cases apart, enough durable features remain to identify. the ego.
Of course, the ego also is only of relative permanency.

After a first survey has been obtained, by the formation of
the substance-concepts “ body” and “ego” (matter and soul),
the will is impelled to a more exact examination of the changes
that take place in these relatively permanent existences. The
changeable features of bodies and of the ego, in fact, are exactly
what moves the will to this examination. Here the component
parts of the complex are first exhibited as its properties. A fruit
is sweet; but it can also be bitter. Also, other fruits may be
sweet. The red color we are seeking is found in many bodies.
The neighborhood of some bodies is pleasant; that of others,
unpleasant. Thus, gradually, different complexes are found to
be made up of common elements. The visible, the audible, the
tangible, are separated from bodies. The visible is analysed
into colors and into form. In the manifoldness of the colors,
again, though here fewer in number, other component parts are
discerned — such as the primary colors, and so forth. The
complexes are disintegrated into elements.

3. The useful habit of designating such relatively perma-
nent compounds by single names, and of apprehending them
by single thoughts, without going to the trouble each time of an
analysis of their component parts, is apt to come into strange
conflict with the tendency to isolate the component parts. The
vague image which we have of a given permanent complex, be-
ing an image which does not perceptibly change when one or
another of the component parts is taken away, gradually estab-
lishes itself as something which exists by itself. Inasmuch as it
is possible to take away singly every constituent part without
destroying the capacity of the image to stand for the totality
and of being recognised again, it is imagined that it is possible

600 ERNST MACH

to subtract all the parts and to have something still remaining.
Thus arises the monstrous notion of a thing in itself, unknow-
able and different from its “ phenomenal” existence.

Thing, body, matter, are nothing apart from their complexes’
of colors, sounds and so forth — nothing apart from their so-
called attributes. That Protean, supposititious problem, which
springs up so much in philosophy, of a single thing with many
attributes, arises wholly from a mistaking of the fact, that
summary comprehension and precise analysis, although both
are provisionally justifiable and for many purposes profitable,
cannot and must not be carried on simultaneously. A body
is one and unchangeable only so long as it is unnecessary to
consider its details. Thus both the earth and a billiard-ball
are spheres, if the purpose in hand permits our neglecting de-
viations from the spherical form, and great precision is not
necessary. But when we are obliged to carry on investigations
in orography or microscopy, both bodies cease to be spheres.

4. Man possesses, in its highest form, the power of con-
sciously and arbitrarily determining his point of view. He can
at one time disregard the most salient features of an object,
and immediately thereafter give attention to its smallest de-
tails; now consider a stationary current, without a thought of its
contents, and then measure the width of a Fraunhofer line
in the spectrum; he can rise at will to the most general abstrac-
tions or bury himself in the minutest particulars. The animal
possesses this capacity in a far less degree. It does not assume
a point of view, but is usually forced to it. The babe who does
not know its father with his hat on, the dog that is perplexed at
the new coat of its master, have both succumbed in this con-
flict of points of view. Who has not been worsted in similar
plights? Even the man of philosophy at times succumbs, as
the grotesque problem, above referred to, shows.

In this last case, the circumstances appear to furnish a real
ground for justification. Colors, sounds, and the odors of bod-
ies are evanescent. But the tangible part, as a sort of constant
durable nucleus, not readily susceptible of annihilation, re-

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 601

mains behind; appearing as the vehicle of the more fugitive
properties annexed to it. Habit, thus, keeps our thought firmly
attached to this central nucleus, even where the knowledge
exists that seeing, hearing, smelling, and touching are inti-
mately akin in character. A further consideration is, that ow-
ing to the singularly extensive development of mechanical
physics a kind of higher reality is ascribed to space and time
than to colors, sounds, and odors; agreeably to which, the tem-
poral and spatial /inks of colors, sounds, and odors appear to be
more real than the colors, sounds, and odors themselves. The
physiology of the senses, however, demonstrates, that spaces
and times may just as appropriately be called sensations as
colors and sounds.

‘s. The ego, and the relation of bodies to the ego, give rise to
similar pseudo-problems, the character of which may be briefly
indicated as follows:

' Let those complexes of colors, sounds, and so forth, com-
monly called bodies, be designated, for the sake of simplicity,
by A BC .. .; the complex, known as our own body, which :
constitutes a part of the former, may be called KID M...;
the complex composed of volitions, memory-images, and the
rest, we shall represent by aBy . . . Usually, now, the com-
plexaBy...KLM.. ., as making up the ego, is opposed
to the complex A BC .. ., as making up the world of sub-
stance; sometimes, also,aS8y .. . is viewed asego,and KLM
... ABC... as world of substance. Now, at first blush,
ABC... appears independent of the ego, and opposed to it
as a separate existence. But this independence is only relative,
and gives way upon closer inspection. Much, it is true, may
change in the complex aBy . . . without a perceptible change
being inducedin A BC . . .;and vice versa. But many changes
in aBy... do pass, by way of changesin KLM ...,
toA BC... ; andviceversa. (As, for example, when power-
ful ideas burst forth into acts, or our environment induces
noticeable changes in our body.) At the same time the group
KLM... appears to be more intimately connected with

602 ERNST MACH

aBy...and with ABC .. ., than the latter do with one
another; relations which find their expression in common
thought and speech.

Precisely viewed, however, it appears that the group A BC

. is always codetermined by K L M. A cube of wood when
seen close at hand, looks large; when seen at a distance, small;
it looks different with the right eye from what it does with the
left; sometimes it appears double; with closed eyes it is invis-
ible. The properties of the same body, therefore, appear modi-
fied by our own body; they appear conditioned by it. But
where, now, is that same body, which to the appearance is so
different? All that can be said is, that with different K L M
different A BC ... are associated.

We see an object having a point S. If we touch S, that is,
bring it into connexion with our body, we receive a prick. We
can see S, without feeling the prick. But as soon as we feel the
prick we find S. The visible point, therefore, is a permanent
fact or nucleus, to which the prick is annexed, according to cir-
cumstances, as something accidental. From the frequency of
such occurrences we ultimately accustom ourselves to regard
all properties of bodies as ‘‘effects” proceeding from perman-
ent nuclei and conveyed to the ego through the medium of
the body; which effects we call sensations. By this operation,
however, our imagined nuclei are deprived of their entire sen-
sory contents, and converted into mere mental symbols. The
assertion, then, is correct that the world consists only of our
sensations. In which case we have knowledge omly of sensa-
tions, and the assumption of the nuclei referred to, or of a re-
ciprocal action between them, from which sensations proceed,
turns out to be quite idle and superfluous. Such a view can
only suit with a half-hearted realism or a half-hearted philo-
sophical criticism.

6. Ordinarily thecomplexaBy...K LM... is contrasted
as ego with the complex A BC. Those elements only of A BC
. . . that more strongly altera Py. . ., asa prick, a pain, are
wont to be comprised in the ego. Afterwards, however, through

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 603

observations of the kind just referred to, it appears that the
right to annex A BC . . . to the ego nowhere ceases. In con-
formity with this view the ego can be so extended as ultimately
to embrace the entire world. The ego is not sharply marked off,
its limits are very indefinite and arbitrarily displaceable. Only
by failing to observe this fact, and by unconsciously narrowing
those limits, while at the same time we enlarge them, arise, in
the conflict of points of view, the metaphysical difficulties met
with in this connection.

As soon as we have perceived that the supposed unities
“body” and “ego” are only makeshifts, designed for provis-
ional survey and for certain practical ends (so that we may
take hold of bodies, protect ourselves against pain, and so forth),
we find ourselves obliged, in many profound scientific investi-
gations, to abandon them as insufficient and inappropriate.
The antithesis of ego and world, sensation (phenomenon) and
thing, then vanishes, and we have simply to deal with the con-
nexion of theelemenisaBy...ABC...KLM....,
of which this antithesis was only a partially appropriate and
imperfect expression. This connexion is nothing more nor less
than the combination of the above-mentioned elements with
other similar elements (time and space). Science has simply to
accept this connexion, and to set itself aright (get its bearings)
in the intellectual environment which is thereby furnished,
without attempting to explain its existence.

On a superficial examination the complex a By. . . appears
to be made up of much more evanescent elements than A BC

.andK LM ... in which last the elements seem to be
connected with greater stability and im a more permanent man-
ner (being joined to solid nuclei as it were). Although on closer
inspection the elements of all complexes prove to be homogene-
ous, yet in spite of the knowledge of this fact, the early notion
of an antithesis of body and spirit easily regains the ascendancy
in the mind. The philosophical spiritualist is often sensible of
the difficulty of imparting the needed solidity to his mind-
created world of bodies; the materialist is at a loss when required
to endow the world of matter with sensation. The monistic

604. ERNST MACH

point of view, which artificial reflexion has evolved, is easily
clouded by our older and more powerful instinctive notions.

7. The difficulty referred to is particularly felt in the follow-
ing case. Inthe complex A BC . . ., which we have called the
world of matter, we find as parts, not only our own body K LM
. . ., but also the bodies of other persons (or animals) K’ L’ M’
...,K" LM". . ., to which, by analogy, we imagine other
al Bly”. a, a Bly” |. annexed, similarto a8 9 a1 480
long as we deal with K’ L’ M’ .. ., we find ourselves in a
thoroughly familiar province at every point sensorially acces-
sible to us. When, however, we inquire after the sensations or
feelings appurtenant to the body K’ L’ M’ . . ., we no longer
find the elements we seek in the province of sense: we add them
in thought. Not only is the domain which we now enter far less
familiar to us, but the transition into it is also relatively un-
safe. We have the feeling as if we were plunging into an abyss.
Persons who adopt this method only, will never thoroughly rid
themselves of this sense of insecurity, which is a frequent source
of illusive problems.

But we are not restricted to this course. Let us consider,
first, the reciprocal relations of the elements of the complex
ABC..., without regarding K LM... (our body). All
physical investigations are of this sort. A white bullet falls
upon a bell; a sound is heard. The bullet turns yellow before a
sodium lamp, red before a lithium lamp. Here the elements
(A BC. . .) appear to be connected only with one another and
to be independent of our body (K LM .. .). But if we take
santonine, the bullet again turns yellow. If we press one eye
to the side, we see two bullets. If we close our eyes entirely,
we see none at all. If we sever the auditory nerve, no sound is
heard. The elements A BC .. ., therefore, are not only con-
nected among one another, but also with K L M. To this ex-
tent, and to this extent only, do wecallA BC .. . sensations,
and regard A B Cas belonging to the ego. In this way, accord-
ingly, we do not find the gap between bodies and sensations
above described, between what is without and what is within, °

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 605

between the material world and the spiritual world.! All ele-
ments ABC ...,K LM... constitute a single coherent
mass only, in which, when any one element is disturbed, all is
put in motion; except that a disturbance inK LM... has
a more extensive and profound action than in A BC. A magnet
in our neighborhood disturbs the particles of iron near it; a
falling boulder shakes the earth; but the severing of a nerve
sets in motion the whole system of elements.

8. That traditional gulf between physical and psychological
research, accordingly, exists only for the habitual stereotyped
method of observation. A color is a physical object so long as
we consider its dependence upon its luminous source, upon other
colors, upon heat, upon space, and so forth. Regarding, how-
ever, its dependence upon the retina (the elements K LM... )
it becomes a psychological object, a sensation. Not the sub-
ject, but the direction of our investigation, is different in the
two domains.

Both in reasoning from the observation of the bodies of other
men or animals, to the sensations which they possess, as well
as in investigating the influence of our own body upon our own
sensations, we must complete observed facts by analogy. This
is accomplished with much greater readiness and certainty,
when it relates, say, only to nervous processes, which cannot be
fully observed in our own bodies — that is, when it is carried
out in the more familiar physical domain — than when it is
made in connexion with psychical processes. Otherwise there
is no essential difference.

10. Reference has already been made to the different char-
acter of the groups of elements designated by ABC... and
ay. Asa matter of fact, when we see a green tree before us,
or remember a green tree, that is, represent a green tree to our-
selves, we are perfectly aware of the difference of the two cases.
The represented tree has a much less determinate, a much more

1 Compare my Grundlinien der Lehre von den Bewegungsempfindungen, Leipsic,
Engelmann, 1875, p. 54.

606 ERNST MACH

changeable form; its green is much paler and more evanescent;
and, what is of especial note, it is plainly situated in a different
domain. A movement that we propose to execute is never more
than a represented movement, and appears in a different sphere
from that of the executed movement, which always takes place
when the image is vivid enough. The statement that the ele-
ments A and a appear in different spheres, means, if we goto
the bottom of it, simply this, that these elements are united
with different other elements. Thus far, therefore, the funda-
mental constituents of ABC. . .,aBy .. . would seem to be
the same (colors, sounds, spaces, times, motor sensations. . . ),
and only the character of their connexion different.

Ordinarily pleasure and pain are regarded as different from
sensations. Yet not only tactile sensations, but all other kinds
of sensations, may pass gradually into pleasure and pain. Plea-
sure and pain also may be justly termed sensations. Only they
are not so well analysed and so familiar as the common sensa-
tions. In fact, sensations of pleasure and pain, however faint
they may be, really, make up the contents of all so-called emo-
tions. Thus, perceptions, ideas, volition, and emotion, in
short the whole inner and outer world, are composed of a small
number of homogeneous elements connected in relations of vary-
ing evanescence or permanence. Usually, these elements are
called sensations. But as vestiges of a one-sided theory inhere
in that term, we prefer to speak simply of elements, as we have
already done. The aim of all research is to ascertain the mode
of connexion of these elements.!

11. That in this complex of elements, which fundamentally
is one, the boundaries of bodies and of the ego do not admit of
being established in a manner definite and sufficient for all cases,
has already been remarked. The comprehending of the elements
that are most intimately connected with pleasure and pain,
under one ideal mental-economical unity, the ego, is a work of
the highest significance for the intellect in the functions which

1 Compare the note at the conclusion of my treatise, Die Geschichte und die
Wurzel des Satzes der Erhaliung der Arbeit, Prague, Calve, 1872.

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 607

it performs for the pain-avoiding, pleasure-seeking will. The
delimitation of the ego, therefore, is instinctively effected,
is rendered familiar, and possibly becomes fixed through hered-
ity. Owing to their high practical value, not only for the in-
dividual, but for the entire species, the composites “ego” and
“body” assert instinctively their claims, and operate: with all
the power of natural elements. In special cases, however, in
which practical ends are not concerned, but where knowledge
is an object in itself, the delimitation in question may prove to
be insufficient, obstructive, and untenable.!

The primary fact is not the J, the ego, but the elements (sen-
sations). Theelements constitute the J. That I have the sensa-
tion green, signifies that the element green occurs in a given
complex of other elements (sensations, memories). When J
cease to have the sensation green, when J die, then the ele-
ments no longer occur in their ordinary, familiar way of asso-
ciation. That is all. Only an ideal mental-economical unity,
not a real unity, has ceased to exist.

If a knowledge of the connexion of the elements (sensations)
does not suffice us, and we ask, Who possesses this connexion
of sensations, Who experiences the sensations ? then we have
succumbed to the habit of subsuming every element (every
sensation) under some wnanalysed complex, and we are fall-
ing back imperceptibly upon an older, lower and more limited
point of view.

The so-called unity of consciousness is not an argument in
point. Since the apparent antithesis of real world and perceived
world is due entirely to our mode of view, and no actual gulf

1 Similarly, esprit de corps, class bias, national pride, and even the narrowest
minded local patriotism may have a high value, for certain purposes. But such
attitudes will not be shared by the broad-minded inquirer, at least not in mo-
ments of research. All such egoistic views are adequate only for practical pur-
poses. Of course, even the inquirer may succumb to habit. Trifling pedantries
and nonsensical discussions, the cunning appropriation of others’ thoughts, with
perfidious silence as to the sources, the metaphorical dysphagia suffered when
recognition must be given, and the crooked illumination of others’ performances
when this is done, abundantly show that the scientist and scholar have also the

battle of existence to fight, that the ways of science still lead to the mouth, and
that the pure quest of knowledge in our present social conditions is still an ideal.

608 ERNST MACH

exists between them, a rich and variously interconnected con-
tent of consciousness is in no respect more difficult to under-
stand than a rich and diversified interconnexion of the world.

If we regard the ego as a real unity, we become involved in
the following dilemma: either we must set over against the ego
a world of unknowable entities (which would be quite idle and
purposeless), or we must regard the whole world, the egos of
other people included, as comprised in our own ego (a proposi-
tion to which it is difficult to yield serious assent).

But if we take the ego simply as a practical unity, put to-
gether for purposes of provisional survey, or simply as a more
strongly coherent group of elements, less strongly connected
with other groups of this kind, questions like those above dis-
cussed will not arise and research will have an unobstructed
future. 3

In his philosophical notes Lichtenberg says: “We become
conscious of certain percepts that are not dependent upon us;

‘of others that we at least think are dependent upon us. Where
is ‘the border-line? We know only the existence of our sensa-
tions, percepts, and thoughts. We should say, It thinks, just
as we say, it lightens. It is going too far to say cogito, if we
translate cogito by I think. The assumption, or postulation, of
the ego is a mere practical necessity.” Though the method by
which Lichtenberg arrived at this result is somewhat different
from ours, we must nevertheless give our full assent to his con-
clusion.

12. Bodies do not produce sensations, but complexes of
sensations (complexes of elements) make up bodies. If, to the
physicist, bodies appear the real, abiding existences, whilst
sensations are regarded merely as their envanescent, transitory
show, the physicist forgets, in the assumption of such a view,
that all bodies are but thought-symbols for complexes of sens-
ations (complexes of elements). Here, too, the elements form
the real, immediate, and ultimate foundation, which it is the
task of physiological research to investigate. By the recogni-
tion of this fact, many points of psychology and physics as-

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 609

sume more distinct and more economical forms, and many
spurious problems are disposed of.

For us, therefore, the world does not consist of mysterious
entities, which by their interaction with another, equally mys-
terious entity, the ego, produce sensations, which alone are
accessible. For us, colors, sounds, spaces, times, . ; . are the
ultimate elements, whose given connexion it is our business to
investigate. In this investigation we must not allow ourselves
to be impeded by such intellectual abridgments and delimita-
tions, as body, ego, matter, mind, etc., which have been formed
for special, practical purposes and with wholly provisional and
limited ends in view. On the contrary, the fittest forms of
thought must be created in and by that research ‘éself, just as is
done in every special science. In place of the traditional, in-
stinctive ways of thought, a freer, fresher view, conforming to
developed experience, must be substituted. |

13. Science always takes its origin in the adaptation of
thought to some definite field of experience. The results of the
adaptation are thought-elements, which are able to represent
the field. The outcome, of course, is different, according to the
character and extent of the provincesurveyed. If the province
of experience in question is enlarged, or if several provinces
heretofore disconnected are united, the traditional, familiar
thought-elements no longer suffice for the extended province.
In the struggle of acquired habit with the effort after adapta-
tion, problems arise, which disappear when the adaptation is
perfected, to make room for others which have arisen in the
interim.

To the physicist, gu@ physicist, the idea of “body” is pro-
ductive of a real facilitation of view, and is not the cause of
disturbance. So, also, the person with purely practical aims, is
materially assisted by the idea of the J or ego. For, unques-
tionably, every form of thought that has been designedly or
undesignedly constructed for a given purpose, possesses for that
purpose a permanent value. When, however, research in phy-
sics and in psychology meets, the ideas held in the one domain

610 ERNST MACH

prove to be untenable in the other. From the attempt at mu-
tual adaptation arise the various atomic and monadic theories
— which, however, never attain their end. If we regard sens-
ations, in the sense above defined, as the elements of the world,
the problems referred to are practically disposed of, and the
first and most important adaptation effected. This fundamen-
tal view (without any pretension to being a philosophy for all
eternity) can at present be adhered to in all provinces of expe-
rience; it is consequently the one that accommodates itself
with the least expenditure of energy, that is, more economically
than any other, to the present temporary collective state of know-
ledge. Furthermore, in the consciousness of its purely econom-
ical office, this fundamental view is eminently tolerant. It does
not obtrude itself into provinces in which the current concep-
tions are still adequate. It is ever ready, upon subsequent
extensions of the domain of experience, to yield the field to a
better conception.

The philosophical point of view of the average man — if that
term may be applied to the naive realism of the ordinary indi-
vidual — has a claim to the highest consideration. It has arisen
in the process of immeasurable time without the conscious as-
sistance of man. It is a product of nature, and is preserved and
sustained by nature. Everything that philosophy has accom-
plished — the biological value of every advance, nay, of every
error, admitted — is, as compared with it, but an insignificant
and ephemeral product of art. The fact is, every thinker, every
philosopher, the moment he is forced to abandon his narrow
intellectual province by practical necessity, immediately returns
to the universal point of view held by all men in common.

To discredit this point of view is not then the purpose of the
foregoing “introductory remarks.” The task which we have
set ourselves is simply to show why and to what purpose for the
greatest portion of life we hold it, and why and for what purpose
we are provisorily obliged to abandon it. No point of view has
absolute, permanent validity. Each has importance only for
some given end.

1 A kindred view will be found in Avenarius, Kritik der reinen Erfahrung.

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 611

THE SPACE-SENSATIONS

1. THE tree with its hard, rough grey trunk, its numberless
branches swayed by the wind, its smooth soft, shining leaves,
appears to us at firsta single, indivisible whole. In like manner,
we regard the sweet, round, yellow fruit, the warm, bright fire,
with its manifold moving tongues, as a single thing. One name
designates the whole, one word draws forth from the depths of
oblivion all associated memories, as if they were strung upon
a single thread.

The reflexion of the tree, the fruit, or the fire in a mirror is
visible, but not tangible. When we turn our glance away or
close our eyes, we can touch the tree, taste the fruit, feel the
fire, but we cannot see them. Thus the apparently indivisible
thing is separated into parts, which are not only connected with
one another but are also joined to other conditions. The visible
is separable from the tangible, from that which may be tasted,

The visible also appears at first sight to be a single thing.
But we may see a round, yellow fruit together with a yellow,
star-shaped blossom. A second fruit is just as round as the first,
but is green or red. Two things may be alike in color but unlike
in form; they may be different in colour but like in form. Thus
sensations of sight are separable into color-sensations and space-
sensations.

2. Color-sensation, into the details of which we shall not
enter here, is essentially a sensation of favorable or unfavor-
able chemical conditions of life. In the process of adaptation to
these conditions, color-sensation may have been developed and
modified. Light introduces organic life. The green chlorophyll
and the (complementary) red hemoglobin play a prominent
part in the chemical processes of the plant-body and in the con-
trary processes of the animal body. The two substances pre-
sent themselves: to us in the most varied modifications of tint.
The discovery of the visual purple, observations in photogra-

612 ERNST MACH

phy and photochemistry render the conception of processes of
sight as chemical processes permissible. The rdle which color
plays in analytical chemistry, in spectrum-analysis, in crystal-
lography, is well known. It suggests a new conception for the
so-called vibrations of light, according to which they are re-
garded, not as mechanical, but as chemical vibrations, as suc-
cessive union and separation, as an oscillatory process of the
same sort that takes place, though only in one direction, in
photo-chemical phenomena. This conception, which is sub-
stantially supported by recent investigations in abnormal dis-
persion, accords with the electro-magnetic theory of light. In
the case of electrolysis, in fact, chemistry yields the most in-
telligible conception of the electric current, regarding the two
components of the electrolyte as passing through each other in
opposite directions. It is likely, therefore, that in a future
theory of colors, many biologico-psychological and chemico-
physical threads will be united.

3. Adaptation to the chemical conditions of life which mani-
fest themselves in color, renders locomotion necessary to a far
greater extent than adaptation to those which manifest them-
selves through taste and smell. At least this is so in the case of
man, concerning whom alone we are able to judge with immed-
iacy and certainty. The close association of space-sensation (a
mechanical factor) with color-sensation (a chemical factor) is
herewith rendered intelligible. We shall now proceed to the
analysis of space-sensations.

4. In examining two figures which are alike but differently
colored (for example, two letters of the same size and shape, but
of different colors), we recognise their sameness
of form at the first glance, in spite of the differ-
ence of color-sensation. The sight-perceptions,
therefore, must contain some like sensation-
components. These are the space-sensations —
which are the same in the two cases.

Fig. 1.

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 613

5. We will now investigate the character of the space-sens-
ations that physiologically condition the recognition of a fig-
ure. First, it is clear that this recognition is not the result
of geometrical considerations — which are a matter, not of
sensation, but of intellect. On the contrary, the space-sensa-
tions in question serve as the starting-point and foundation
of all geometry. Two figures may be geometrically congruent,
but physiologically quite different. ...

6. In what, now, does the essential nature of optical similar-
ity, as contrasted with geometrical similarity, consist? In geo-
metrically similar figures, all homologous distances are propor-
tional. But this is an affair of the intellect, not of sensation.
Tf we place beside a triangle with the sides a, b, c, a triangle
with the sides 2a, 2b, 2c, we do not recognise the simple rela-
tion of the two immediately, but intellectually, by measure-
ment. If the similiarity is to become optically perceptible, the
proper position must be added. That a simple intellectual re-
lationship of two objects does not necessarily condition a sim-
ilarity of sensation, may be perceived by comparing two tri-
angles having respectively the sides a, 6, c, and a+m, b+m,
c+m. The two triangles do not look at all alike. Similarly all
conic sections do not look alike, although all stand in a simple
geometric relation to each other; still less do curves of the third
order exhibit optical similiarity; etc.

7. The geometrical similarity of two figures is determined
by all their homologous lines being proportional or by all their
homologous angles being equal.

But to appear optically similar

the figures must also be similarly

situated, that is all their homo-
logous lines must be parallel or, -

as we prefer tosay, have the

same direction (Fig.2). By likeness of direction, accordingly,
are determined like space-sensations, and these are character-
istic of the physiologico-optical similarity of figures.

We may obtain an idea of the physiological significance of

Fig. 2.

614 ERNST MACH

the direction of a given straight line or curve-element, by the
following reflexion. Let y = f (x) be the equation of a plane
curve. We can read at a glance the course of the values of dy/da
on the curve, for they are determined by its slope; and the eye
gives us, likewise, qualitative information concerning the values
of d?y/dx*, for they are characterised by the curvature. The
question naturally presents itself why can we not arrive at as
immediate conclusions concerning the values d*y/dx3, d4y/da',
etc. The answer is easy. What we see are not the differential
coefficients, which are an intellectual affair, but only the direc-
tion of the curve-elements, and the declination of the direction
of one curve-element from that of another.

In fine, since we are immediately cognisant of the similarity
of figures lying in similar positions, and are also able to distin-
guish without ado the special case of congruity, therefore our
space-sensations yield us information concerning likeness or un-
likeness of directions and equality or inequality of spatial dimen-
Sions.

8. It is extremely probable that sensations of space are pro-
duced by the motor apparatus of the eye. Without entering
into particulars, we may observe, first, that the whole appara-
tus of the eye, and especially the motor apparatus, is symmet-
rical with respect to the median plane of the head. Hence,
symmetrical movements of looking will determine like or ap-
proximately like space-sensations. Children constantly con-
found the letters 6 and d, as p and g. Adults, too, do not
readily notice a change from left to right unless some special
points of apprehension for sense or intellect render it percept-
ible. The symmetry of the motor apparatus of the eye is very
perfect. The like excitation of its symmetrical organs would,
by itself scarcely account for the distinction of right and left.
But the whole human body, especially the brain, is affected
witha slight asymmetry, — which leads, for example, to the pre-
ference of one (generally the right) hand, in motor functions.
And this leads, again, to a further and better development of
the motor functions of the right side, and to a modification of

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 615

the attendant sensations. After the space-sensations of the eye
have become associated, through writing, with the motor func-
tions of the right hand, a confusion of those vertically symmet-
rical figures with which the art and habit of writing are con-
cerned no longer ensues. This association may, indeed, become
so strong that remembrance follows only the accustomed tracks,
and we read, for example, the reflexion of written or printed
words in a mirror only with the greatest difficulty. The con-
fusion of right and left still occurs, however, with regard to
figures which have no motor, but only a purely optical (for ex-
ample, ornamental) interest. A noticeable difference between
right and left must be felt, moreover, by animals, as in many
predicaments they have no other means of finding their way.
The similarity of sensations connected with symmetrical motor
functions is easily remarked by the attentive observer. If, for
example, supposing my right hand to be employed, I grasp a
micrometer-screw or a key with my left hand, I am certain (un-
less I reflect beforehand) to turn it in the wrong direction, —
that is, I always perform the movement which is symmetrical to
the usual movement, confusing the two because of the similar-
ity of the sensation. The observations of Heidenhain regard-
ing the reflected writing of persons hypnotised on one side
should also be cited in this connexion.

With looking upwards and looking downwards, fundament-
ally different space-sensations are associated, as ordinary ob-
servations will show. This is, moreover, comprehensible, since
the motor apparatus of the eye is asymmetrical with respect to
a horizontal plane. The direction of gravity is so very decisive
and important for the motor apparatus of the rest of the body
that the same factor has assuredly also found its expression in
the apparatus of the eye, which serves the rest. It is well known
that the symmetry of a landscape and of its reflexion in water is
not felt. The portrait of a familiar personage, when turned
upside, down, is strange and puzzling to a person who does not
recognise it intellectually. If we place ourselves behind the
head of a person lying upon a couch and unreflectingly give
ourselves up to the impression which the face makes upon us,

616 ERNST MACH

we shall find that it is altogether strange, especially when the
person speaks. The letters 6 and p, and d and gq, are not con-
fused by children.

Our previous remarks concerning symmetry, similarity, and
the rest, naturally apply not only to plane figures, but also to
those in space. Hence, we have yet a remark to add concern-
ing the sensation of space-depth. Looking at objects afar off
and looking at objects near at hand determine different sensa-
tions. These sensations must not be confused, because of the
supreme importance of the difference between near and far,
both for animals and human beings. They cannot be confused
because the motor apparatus is asymmetrical with respect to a
plane perpendicular to the direction from front to rear. The
observation that the bust of a familiar personage cannot be
replaced by the mould in which the bust is cast is quite
analogous to the observations consequent upon the inversion
of objects.

g. If equal distances and like directions excite like space-sens-
ations, and directions symmetrical with respect to the median
plane of the head excite similar space-sensations, the explana-
tion of the above-cited facts is not far to seek. The straight
line has, in all its elements, the same direction, and everywhere
excites the same space-sensations. Herein consists its zsthetic
value. Moreover, straight lines which lie in the median plane
or are perpendicular to it are brought into special relief by the
circumstance that, through this position of symmetry, they
occupy a like position to the two halves of the visual apparatus.
Every other position of the straight line is felt as awryness, or
as a deviation from the position of symmetry.

The repetition of the same space-figure in the same position
conditions a repetition of the same space-sensation. All lines
connecting prominent (noticeable) homologous points have the
same direction and excite the same sensation. Likewise when
merely geometrically similar figures are placed side by side in
the same positions, this relation holds. The sameness of the
dimensions alone is absent. But when the positions are dis-

ANALYSIS OF SENSATIONS 617

turbed, this relation, and with it, the impression of unity —
the esthetic impression — are also disturbed.

In a figure symmetrical with respect to the median plane,
similar space-sensations corresponding to the symmetrical di-
rections take the place of the identical space-sensations. The
right half of the figure stands in the same relation to ‘the right
half of the visual apparatus as the left half of the figure does to
the left half of the visual apparatus. If we alter the sameness
of the dimensions, the sensation of symmetrical similarity is
still felt. An oblique position of the plane of symmetry dis-
turbs the whole effect.

If we turn a figure through 180°, contrasting it with itself in
its original position, centric symmetry is produced. That is, if
two pairs of homologous points be connected, the connecting
lines will cut each other at a point O, through which, as their
point of bisection, all lines connecting homologous points will
pass. Moreover, in the case of centric symmetry, all lines of
connexion between homologous points have the same direction,
— a fact which produces an agreeable sensation. If the same-
ness of the dimensions is eliminated, there still remains, for
sensation, centrically symmetrical similarity.

Regularity appears to have no special physiological value,
in distinction from symmetry. The value of regularity prob-
ably lies rather in its manifold symmetry, which is perceptible
in more than one single position.

10. The correctness of these observations will be apparent
on glancing over the work of Owen Jones— A Grommar of
Ornament (London, 1865). In almost every plate one finds
new and different kinds of symmetry as fresh testimony in
favor of the conceptions above advanced. The art of decora-
tion, which, like pure instrumental music, aims at no ulterior
end, but ministers only to pleasure in form (and color), is
the best source of material for our present studies. Writing ©
is governed by other considerations than that of beauty.
Nevertheless, we find among the twenty-four large Latin letters
ten which are vertically symmetrical (A, H, I, M, O, T, V,

618 ERNST MACH

W, X, Y), five which are horizontally symmetrical (B, C, D,
E, K), three which are centrically symmetrical (N, S, Z), and
only six which are unsymmetrical (F, G, L, P, Q, R).

11. It is to be remarked again that the geometrical and the
physiological properties of a figure in space are to be sharply
distinguished. The physiological properties are determined by
the geometrical properties coincidently with these, but are not
determined by these solely. On the other hand, physiological
properties very probably gave the first impulse to geometrical
investigations. The straight line doubtless attracted attention
not because of its being the shortest line between two points,
but because of its physiological simplicity. The plane likewise
possesses, in addition to its geometrical properties, a special
physiologico-optical (zsthetic) value, which claims notice for
it, as will be shown later on. The division of the plane and of
space by right angles has not only the advantage of producing
equal parts, but also an additional and special symmetry-value.
The circumstance that congruent and similar geometrical fig-
ures can be brought into positions where their relationship is
physiologically felt, led, no doubt, to an earlier investigation of
these kinds of geometrical relationship than of those that are
less noticeable, such as affinity, collineation, and others. With-
out the co-operation of sense-perception and understanding, a
scientific geometry is inconceivable... .

CARL STUMPF
(1848- )

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF TONE

Translated from the German* by
BENJAMIN RAND

§ 19. THE DEGREES OF TONAL FUSION

1. What tonal fusion is and what it is not.

It has already been mentioned in what precedes, that not
merely do simultaneous as contrasted with successive tones
enter into a special relation in sensation, which renders their
analysis difficult, but that also there are differences in this
respect among simultaneous tones, according to the numerical
ratio of their vibrations. We must now turn our attention to
this fact. I will first illustrate it by two extreme examples.

If two tones, the number of whose vibrations are related as
1:2, are simultaneously produced, they can be very imperfectly
discriminated in comparison with the case where, for example,
under otherwise precisely similar conditions, the ratio is as 40:77.
When I say, “imperfectly,”’ I mean that the question is not as
to a difficulty, which might be overcome by increased attention
and practise, but as to an unchangeable characteristic of thema-
terial of sensation, which persists even after all other obstacles to
an analysis have been removed, and which, moreover, after the
analysis is completed and the tones clearly recognized as two,
can first likewise be perceived in itself. In 40:77 the tones in the
sensation appear so to speak farther apart than in the case of
1:2, so that in the first case even the unmusical person is less,
or not at all, in danger of taking them for one; whereas on the
contrary, the octave tones cannot be kept distinct even by the

_ * From C. Stumpf’s Tonpsychologie, Leipzig, 1890, Bd. 1.

620 CARL STUMPF

most delicate and practised ear, in the same degree as those of
the seventh, or of the unmusical relation 40:77. When the un-
practised designate simultaneous octave tones as one tone,
there is accordingly a double hindrance to analysis, namely:
one an imperfect practise, and the other in the tone itself; one,
which influences the judgment directly, and the other which
influences the sensation and in consequence of it the judgment.

What is most essential for the general characterisation of the
concept of fusion, as we understand it, has been fairly exhausted
in what has been said,! and can be set forth still more clearly
only in the more inclusive range of a universal theory of rela-
tions, which is one of the most urgent needs of philosophical
science. We term fusion that relation of two contents, especially
sensation-contents, in which they form not a mere sum, but a
whole. The consequence of this relation is, that in its higher
degrees the total impression under otherwise like conditions
approaches more and more that of a single unified sensation,
and becomes more and more difficult to analyze. These results
can also be employed for a definition, and we can say: fusion is
that relation of two sensations as a consequence of which, etc.
But in either way, the matter would remain an empty concept
for everyone to whom the phenomena in question, and espe-
cially the phenomena of tones, were foreign. The real truth of
the assertion, that sensations form a whole and approximate
more or less the impression of a single unified sensation, can
after all be learned only by means of examples.

Nevertheless, I remark, that the inclusion of the concept of
tonal fusion under that more general quality of simultaneous
as opposed to successive sensations, of which we have elsewhere
spoken, is not indispensable for what follows. The tonal fusion
will acquire for us more and more an interest of its own, inde-
pendent of the questions previously discussed (§ 16 and 17);
and would also claim it even if a similar relation did not further
occur in the entire domain of sensations. It is far from being
an hypothesis devised for the solution of those difficulties. It is
a sensuous phenomena which was observed even before those

1 Cf. Stumpf’s Tonpsychologie, p. 64 f.

PSYCHOLOGY OF TONE 621

theoretical difficulties appeared within the intellectual horizon.
It suffices perfectly for the attainment of the concept here
necessary, to perceive and in perceiving to contrast, the dif-
ferences of the cases which exist already within the tonal do-
main, and which will be more accurately described in what fol-
lows. We must hear and compare tonal fusions, just 4s we must
hear and contrast tones, in order to know what a tone is.

Perhaps, however, it is expedient to preclude expressly some
misconceptions which the term fusion might occasion. It is
precisely one of those psychological expressions which have
been most misused, and to which the most impossible concep-
tions and entirely fictitious theories have become attached.
For this reason I have chosen it with reluctance, owing to the
lack of a safer and at the same time more specific word.

It is above all, therefore, not meant by fusion, that two simul-
taneous tones coalesce in a certain unity in consciousness only
by degrees, however quickly. Fusion signifies to us here not a
process, but a present relation. I would, therefore, rather use
“blend” (Schmelz), or “ coalescence” (Schmalz), if this had
also not its objections. Such expressions also as “ to separate”
(auseinandertreten) etc., are to be understood in this sense of
an already existent being; just as they are likewise used in the
sense of rest in the description of architectonic forms.

That fusion is not to be viewed as originating a third tonal
quality in addition to or instead of the other two, needs no
farther amplification after what has preceded (§ 16 and 17).

Henceforth we must reject especially the metaphorical use of
spatial concepts. The naturalist is accustomed to think of
everything by the aid of spatial analogies; and psychologists
also, like Herbart and Beneke, who desire to approach the
exactness of natural science, employ them most extensively for
their psychological descriptions (such as, falling and rising,
overflowing, etc.). We are to disregard all such analogies as’
might erroneously suggest them. Everything extended in space
is either outside, or identical with everything else. But simul-
taneous tones afford us an example of interpenetration; and,
indeed, an interpenetration of a lower and higher degree. The

622 CARL STUMPF

lack of all spatial perceptibility is wholly immaterial. It is,
however, wanting in the relation of quality and intensity.
Spatial perceptivity ceases moreover with psychical states as
such (cf. § 100-104). The concepts here too must be adapted
to the observations. Only a contradiction is.@ priori an im-
possibility. But that the two tones are at the same time one,
is not affirmed.

In general the difficulties, which one still could, and will find,
in the concept of tonal fusion, as it is here understood, are
bound to be of a similar kind and origin to those raised from
time immemorial against the concept of motion. And as the
physicist gets rid of these after the example of Diogenes, who
stepping from his tub walked about with a “solvitur ambu-
lando,” so here in a similar manner the first thing we have to do
is to oppose to all reasoning a “ solvitur audiendo.’’ But then
here as there, it becomes evident that the difficulties are
avoided, the moment that the mixture of heterogeneous con-
cepts is avoided.

Finally it is to be remarked, that the expression and concept
of fusion stands here in no relation, either essentially or his-
torically, with the general psychological doctrine of Herbart, in
which “fusion” plays such a prominent part; and which for the
sake of clearness everyone, who has knowledge of it, is asked
for the present to banish from hismind. Ina subsequent chap-
ter, where the cause and origin of fusion are treated, we will
attempt to show how far Herbart’s theory of fusion in general,
and of tonal fusion in particular, is from being correct.

Our conception of fusion has also not many points of contact
with the ideas which have been brought forward under the
same name oftentimes in the most recent psychology, and
in my judgment on every occasion is in contradiction with the
truth.

2. The Degrees of Fusion
If in the first place we confine ourselves to a tonal domain,
which is limited by the ratio of vibrations 1:2, I remark the

PSYCHOLOGY OF TONE 623

following degrees of different tones, from the highest to the
lowest.

First the fusion of the octave (1:2).

Secondly that of the fifth (2:3).

Thirdly that of the fourth (3:4).

Fourthly that of the so-called natural thirds and sixths
(4:5, 5:6, 3:5, 5:8), between which I find in this respect no
clear distinctions.

Fifthly that of all the remaining musical and unmusical tonal
combinations, which, for my hearing at least, offer no discern-
ible differences of fusion, but on the contrary all the least degree
of it. At most the so-called natural seventh (4:7) could
indeed fuse somewhat more than the others.

If we employ here the modern names of the intervals, and the
general expression interval itself, we do so not in any musical
sense at all, but only to have a known and short term for the
numerical relations of vibrations with which we are here
concerned.

When we speak of degrees of fusion, we mean that we are
dealing with the degrees of differences, which, as is well known,
constantly pass over into one another, from the highest to the
lowest degree. Further we make use also of the general expres-
sion degrees of fusion.

3. The Laws of Fusion

The dependence of the degrees of fusion upon the so-called
ratio of vibrations is the principal law of tonal fusion. In addi-
tion to it stand the following:

(a) The degree of fusion is independent of the tonal region.
In the lowest pitch, where analysis meets with difficulties, the
recognition and comparison of degrees of fusion become natu-
rally difficult and impossible. But where it is possible, we find
the fusion unchanged with the change of pitch, so long only as
the ratio of vibrations of the two tones remain the same.

Only in the very highest pitch, approximating about 4000
vibrations, that is, from the octave five tones above the staff up-
ward, do the differences of fusion appear to me, so far as I have

624 CARL STUMPF

yet been able to observe, to vanish. With tuning-forks 2000:
3000 I still discern with full clearness the fusion of the fifth,
whereas with 3000:5000, 5000:10000, etc., I can discern only the
slightest degree of fusion at all.

(b) The degree of fusion is also independent of the strength,
whether indeed it be the absolute or the relative strength.
That it is not changed by the mere change of the absolute
strength of the two tones is at once clear. With the change of
relative strength it is again noteworthy, that ultimately ana-
lysis becomes impossible with great difference of strength,
since the softer is suppressed by the stronger tone, so
far as perception or even sensation is concerned. But so long
as they remain distinguishable, I cannot notice any change of
the degree of fusion. For example, if I make ¢ and g at first of
equal strength, then c¢ noticeably stronger than g, or the
reverse.

(c) The degree of fusion of two given tones is in no way influ-
enced by the addition at pleasure of a third and fourth tone.
Indeed, a consonance is so much the less easily analyzed, the
more tonesit contains, and becomes at last wholly confused and
not analysable. But so long as two tones are at all distinguish-
able in a composite sound, their fusion also is recognised as the
same as if the two alone were sounded.

In this proposition together with (bd), there is also expressed
the fact, that the overtones especially, and thereby the timbre,
make no change in the ratio of two fundamental tones of mus-
ical sounds, as is also confirmed by direct observation.

(d) As in general the changes of stimulus below a certain
degree effect no perceptible changes of sensation, so likewise
very minute deviations of the number of vibrations from the
abovementioned ratios create no perceptible change of the
degree of fusion. If the deviation is increased, the fusion in all
pairs of tones which do not belong to the very lowest degree
of fusion, passes into this degree without running through the
intermediate degrees, if any. And this transition occurs the
more rapidly, (with the smaller relative differences of vibra-
tions), the greater was the initial fusion.

PSYCHOLOGY OF TONE 625

We say, as is known in the case of small but perceptible devi-
ations, that the interval is ‘‘ out of tune” or “impure.” This
saying possesses, as we may remark by anticipation, not
merely a reference to the disagreeable feeling which is only a
consequence of perception, but above all to an actual and
perceived behavior of sensations.

With regard to the size of the deviation in which che change
of the degree of fusion is discernible, practise besides other cir-
cumstances (e.g., pitch) makes a difference. But this forms no
objection to the definition of the degree of fusion as a fact of
sensation. As a sensation itself can change, so also can the ratio
of two sensations, without the change being remarked; and this
can be imperceptible to another through the equality of sensa-
tions, (not merely of stimuli).

(e) The fusion remains and retains its degree when both
tones do not affect the same ear, but one is presented exclu-
sively to the right, the other exclusively to the left. A tuning-
fork of medium pitch, that is not sounded too loud, held before
one ear is not perceived by the other, as we discover from the
fact, that if the first is stopped up nothing is heard. If now we
apply two forks which for example form a fifth, one to each ear,
no difference is observable between this fusion, and the percep-
tion by one and the same ear. On the contrary, the analysis
can be facilitated by this process (cf § 23, 1 and 24, a).

(f) Fusion remains also in the mere representation of the
imagination. If I merely represent ¢ and g as sounding at the
same time, I can conceive them only as fusing, and indeed with
the definite degree of fusion which they possess in the actual
hearing. The same is true of any other two tones. A priori this
is not necessarily to be expected, even if we recognise sensations
and representations of the imagination in general as similar.
Not all properties of simultaneous sensations pass over of neces-
sity to the representation of the imagination: c and c sharp in
actual hearing (upon the same ear) necessarily make vibrations,
but in the imagination I can represent them perfectly without
vibrations. Moreover, if I represent them as vibrating, I can
represent them with slow or quick, strong or weak vibra-

626 CARL STUMPF

tions; whilst the choice of the degree of fusion is not free
to me.

In regard to the representation of the imagination we must
accordingly complete the fundamental law as follows: Tones
represented as simultaneous fuse in the degree which corre-
sponds to the ratio of vibration of tones of the same pitch
created objectively.

(g) If we proceed above an octave, the same degrees of fusion
recur with the rates of vibration increased one or more octaves.
The ninths have the same fusion as the seconds, the tenths as
the thirds, the double and triple octave as the octave; and in
general m:n.2*, the same as m:n, if m<(nand x a small whole
number.

We must not be misled here by the greater ease of the ana-
lysis. C and c4 sounding together are more easily and certainly
analyzed by the unmusical than C and c, even than C and G;
although these two tones fuse less with one another than the
former. The analysis depends upon very different conditions;
it is peculiarly difficult especially in the lowest register; it is
further facilitated by increase in the difference of pitch of the
two tones. But if analysis takes place in both cases, we shall
also further find, that C and c* are nevertheless in sensuous
impression less perfectly sundered than C and G, and not more
perfectly than C and c.

If I compare the sounds of the tuning-fork CG with on CA
with Ca, etc., it is evident to me, that detection of difference
between every second combination is always easier, but the
fusion is the same as in the first.

If I play upon the d! string of the violin the octave d!, and
then the double octave d? (on the a! string), I have in both cases
the same impression of homogeneity and of approximation to a
real tonal unity. We can always for sake of contrast play
the d in question with the free e? string; the difference of the
fusion is always the same, that of the highest and of the lowest
degree.

If an orchestra plays the entire 7 octave tones from C up to
c®, we still designate the impression as unison. The seven tones

PSYCHOLOGY OF TONE 627

are more homogeneous than the two tones ¢ and a, to say no-
thing of c and b. We cannot here assume as true, that only the
two neighboring members of the series always fuse with one
another, C with, ¢ with c!, etc., and that'the farther removed do
so only by means of the intermediate; for ifC and c® fuse by
themselves less than C and ¢, or even c and g, this could not be
changed by means of the intervening octaves, according to (c).

Moreover, the special laws enunciated in the preceding prin-
ciples can be directly observed in the enlarged intervals them-
selves. For example, thisis true of that presented under (6), the
recognition of which with many possibly meets with difficulties.
Play upon the piano first ¢ alone and observe the overtone g!
(the twelfth), which we clearly hear sound at the same time, in
respect to its fusion with the fundamental tone. Now add g},
by means of which this tone, too, becomes noticeably strength-
ened: the fusion with c remains unchanged. The fusion, there-
fore, in the intervals beyond the octave is independent also of
the relation of strength.

4. Rules of observation

Those who are skilled in the judgment of tones can test,
whether what precedes corresponds to their own perceptions.
Where it is a question of relations which are based on the
material of sensation itself, there is, indeed, no fear that very
great individual differences will appear in those hearing
normally. It is rather to be expected, that those capable of
judgment will find among themselves more and more harmony,
the longer and more carefully they examine. But I will not by
any means claim to have found the correct solution in each of
the mentioned points, and to have expressed it in an entirely
correct manner.

It is necessary in these observations above everything to
direct the attention exclusively upon the point in question,
especially, therefore, to disregard theoretical knowledge of rela-
tionship, etc., as well as of the musical significance and position;
and also to disregard the impression of feeling of an interval,
whether it be harmonious or unharmonious, agreeable or dis- |

628 CARL STUMPF

agreeable, and furthermore in a different way agreeable or
disagreeable. The character and value of the feeling of an inter-
val depends, indeed, as we shall show later, upon its degree of
fusion; but yet not solely upon this. The most agreeable inter-
val is not one of strongest fusion. The great seventh is in
isolated state more disagreeable than the small; and this cannot
be mistaken for a lesser fusion, or explained by that. It has other
grounds. The same is true of the great and small third, etc.

In general it will also be well first to take tones of the same
sensation-strength, because then the danger is best avoided
that any one of them should remain totally imperceptible or
obscure. In order to produce similar strength of sensation in
large intervals of tone, one must frequently — according to the
instrument — give the higher tone with less physical strength.
Further the greatest possible similarity in the initial utterance
and duration of tone is naturally preferable, since inequalities of
every kind divert the attention. Likewise, similar tone color is
desirable, although this is of no influence in the fusion of the
keynotes. Purity of interval, that is, exact harmony with the
respective numbers of vibrations, is so much the more neces-
sary, the more acute the hearing; although minimal variations,
which can never be avoided, do no important injury to the
fusion particularly in the lower grades. The piano with its
tempered pitch permits the differences of the higher degrees
still to appear (the octave is even here pure); but not between
the last two degrees. It is even here c:d sharp —c-e flat, and
c:g sharp —c-a flat.

But all these are measures of the kind that are matters of
course for every observation. Nobody affirms that the phe-
nomenon would be perceptible under only especially chosen
circumstances. It is on the contrary in itself one of the most
obvious, and so to speak most unavoidable, in the whole subject
of unison. The entire task consists only in not confounding
it with others which are based upon it, particularly with facts
of judgment and of feeling (possibility and impossibility of
analysis, pleasurableness and impleasureableness of an in-
terval). .

PSYCHOLOGY OF TONES 629

5. Confirmation through unmusical persons

For the guidance of my own judgment I have pursued still
another method. As the question is here put, it can only be ad-
dressed to those who are sufficiently endowed with power of
tonal observations to analyze the fifths and octaves easily and
directly. With such there exists only the difficulty last men-
tioned, and many times previously touched upon, as to the
dominating consciousness of the harmonious character and sen-
sation-value of the interval. But we can obtain information
also in an indirect way through unmusical persons, and those
unpractised in the judgment of tones: by means of the use of
the aforementioned difficulty of analysis. The different degrees
of fusion must reveal themselves in the different degrees of dif-
ficulty of analysis, if all the remaining circumstances upon
which the latter depend are taken precisely equal. We shall
recognise them in the results. In this way we can even obtain
figures, by the enumeration of correct and false judgments, up-
on the question, whether one or more tones are present in each
interval. The combinations of more strongly fusing tones
under otherwise similar conditions will more rarely be judged
to be two tones than those fusing less strongly.

e . ° ° . ° ° e ° ° j

§ 20. THE CAUSE OF TONAL FUSION

6. The cause of fusion is physiological

All the attempts at the explanation of tonal fusion previously
considered have been psychological. Their failure signifies, that
we can by no means seek the source of tonal fusion in the
psychological domain. In favor of this view from the outset
appeared to be the circumstance, that such tonal fusion is a fact
of sensation, a relation immanent in simultaneous tonal quali-
ties, and independent of practice in the individual life. But
relations of sensation, like the sensations themselves, are not
referable to more remote causes, but only to physical.

The physically objective characteristics of successive waves
do not help usat all. To be sure, the total wave formed by two

630 CARL STUMPF

"waves in the ratio 1:2 is most similar to the simple sine-wave;
then follows 2:3, 3:4, etc. more and more complicated forms.
But these objective relations are, as was previously remarked,
neither themselves the content of any sensation, nor the imme-
diate cause of one; but on the contrary, they lie far back in the
chain of causes. Moreover, if we consider it more closely from
that standpoint, we find, that the so-called characteristic of the
vibrations of the air disappear in the organ, if it is true here
that every compound vibration is resolved into simple vibra-
tions. Also as was previously mentioned, the circumstance that
colors in which objectively the selfsame relations of vibrations
occur, (1:2 in the extreme outer colors of the spectrum, 2:3 in
blue and red, orange and indigo-violet, greenish-blue, and
extreme red), reveal no phenomenon analogous to the tonal
fusion, must prevent the objective forms of the waves from
being made in any way responsible for the fusion.

That also within the organ, especially of the labyrinth in the
ear, the physical processes do not yet possess that characteris-
tic which corresponds to the fusion of the tones in sensation,
appears not merely from the just-mentioned isolated transmis-
sion but also from the fact, that the fusion is perceptible in the
same way when the two tones are divided between the two ears,
as well as when they are merely imagined. At least it would be
a violent and improbable assumption, that the process creating
fusion in the case of simultaneous hearing occurs in the ear
itself, but in the division of the tones occurs first in the brain.

Certain differences in the last processes of the centre of hear-
ing must therefore correspond to the differences in the degrees
of fusion as a physical correlate, or as a cause, (according as one
thinks in a monistic or a dualistic way). But we know nothing
of what nature these differences are, for this reason, if for no
other, that in general we know nothing concerning the nature
of the last processes. Indeed I must say, that although up toa
certain point we can express in physical or chemical terms the
occurrence of vibrations, competition, contrast, and other phe-
nomena, in respect to the processes of the brain, which might
lie at the basis of the phenomena of fusion, such a hypothetical

PSYCHOLOGY OF TONE 631!

image does not even occur to me. Perhaps the practised fancy
of certain mind readers will succeed better. But who knows,
whether we shall not find ourselves gradually induced to recast
or to extend our fundamental physical conceptions. Is it then a
priori certain that the world beyond consciousness, (to which
the brain indeed belongs), is spatial, and only spatial, or may
be so conceived? Spatial properties are nothing but a small
part of those which we abstract from our sense perceptions. We
have found them serviceable for the rational construction of
the external world, and for the derivation of its laws. But
all other qualitative and remaining moments and relations
of sensations have of themselves the same right to be trans-
ferred to the external world. And possibly fusion is itself des-
tined sometime to participate in this dignity; perchance in ap-
plication to chemical processes. But this is a mere play with
the possibilities of thought, and we will not in place of physio-
logical indulge in metaphysiological fancies.

If we are willing in the lack of adequate apprehension to con-
tent ourselves with an abstract notion (which after all is no-
thing but a word), we might once more speak of specific ener-
gies. The specific energies, which lie at the foundation of fusion,
have only this peculiarity, that they are not aroused by means
of isolated stimuli, but by the concurrence of two stimuli. For
this reason, we can call them specific energies of a higher rank,
or still better, specific synergies. By such specific synergy we
should therefore understand a determinate mode of coépera-
tion of two nervous formations, having its ground in the struc-
ture of the brain, of such a kind that whenever these two
formations produce their corresponding sensations, there arises
at the same time a determinate degree of fusion of these sensa-
tions. As adequate and inadequate stimuli are distinguished in
the production of sensations, by means of both of which never-
theless one and the same quality of sensation is produced; so
likewise a determinate degree of fusion is here not united as
such exclusively and unconditionally to the “adequate” stimu-
lus-relation, (e.g., 1:2), but the same specific synergy can also,
by way of exception, be aroused by another objective relation of

632 CARL STUMPF

vibration, and the octave relation, etc., be established in the
sensation. On the other hand, these specific energies of higher
rank are, to be sure, inseparably united with those of the first
rank: for the fusion reveals itself constantly as the same be-
tween two determinate qualities of tone.

That fusion remains preserved in imagination, is not opposed
to what has been said, but is only a new example in proof of the
fact, that the mere ideas of the imagination have themselves a
physical basis; and indeed in general the same as the sensations.

In contrast to the theories of fusion already summarized,
which give a very exact explanation concerning the process, our
formulation must appear slight. But we would prefer honor-
able poverty to suspicious wealth, and remain mindful of the
fact, that everywhere no other formulation than one in such
general and abstract terms, is as yet certainly possible for the
immediate and ultimate bases of our entire sensational life.

WILLIAM JAMES
(1842-1910)

PSYCHOLOGY *

CHAPTER XI. THE STREAM OF CONSCIOUS-
NESS

The order of our study must be analytic. We are now pre-
pared to begin the introspective study of the adult conscious-
ness itself. Most books adopt the so-called synthetic method.
Starting with ‘simple ideas of sensation,’ and regarding these
as so many atoms, they proceed to build up the higher states of
mind out of their “ association,’ ‘integration,’ or ‘ fusion,’ as
houses are built by the agglutination of bricks. This has the
didactic advantages which the synthetic method usually has.
But it commits one beforehand to the very questionable theory
that our higher states of consciousness are compounds of units;
and instead of starting with what the reader directly knows,
namely his total concrete states of mind, it starts with a set of
supposed ‘simple ideas’ with which he has no immediate
acquaintance at all, and concerning whose alleged interactions
he is much at the mercy of any plausible phrase. On every
ground, then, the method of advancing from the simple to the
compound exposes us to illusion. All pedants and abstrac-
tionists will naturally hate to abandon it. But a student who
loves the fulness of human nature will prefer to follow the
‘analytic’ method, and to begin with the most concrete facts,
those with which he has a daily acquaintance in his own inner
life. The analytic method will discover in due time the ele-

* New York, Henry Holt and Company, 1892.

} This chapter first appeared in substance as an article On Some Omissions
of Introspective Psychology in Mind for January, 1884; and again as a chapter
on The Stream of Thought in the author’s Principles of Psychology in 1899. ,

634 WILLIAM JAMES

mentary parts, if such exist, without danger of precipitate as-
sumption. The reader will bear in mind that our own chapters
on sensation have dealt mainly with the physiological condi-
tions thereof. They were put first as a mere matter of conven-
ience, because incoming currents come first. Psychologically
they might better have come last. Pure sensations were de-
scribed [Psychology, page 12] as processes which in adult life are
well-nigh unknown, and nothing was said which could for a
moment lead the reader to suppose that they were the elements
of composition of the higher states of mind.

The Fundamental Fact. — The first and foremost concrete
fact which every one will affirm to belong to his inner experi-
ence is the fact that consciousness of some sort goes on. ‘ States of
mind ’ succeed each other in him. If we could say in English ‘ it
thinks,’ as we say ‘ it rains’ or “it blows,’ we should be stating
the fact most simply and with the minimum of assumption.
As we cannot, we must simply say that thought goes on.

Four Characters in Consciousness. — How does it go on?
We notice immediately four important characters in the pro-
cess, of which it shall be the duty of the present chapter to
treat in a general way:

(1) Every ‘state’ tends to be part of a personal conscious-
ness.

(2) Within each personal consciousness states are always
changing.

(3) Each personal consciousness is sensibly continuous.

(4) Itis interested in some parts of its object to the exclusion
of others, and welcomes or rejects — chooses from among them,
in a word — all the while.

In considering these four points successively, we shall have
to plunge im medias res as regards our nomenclature and use
psychological terms which can only be adequately defined in
later chapters of the book. But every one knows what the
terms mean in a rough way; and it is only in a rough way that
we are now to take them. This chapter is like a painter’s first
charcoal sketch upon his canvas, in which no niceties appear.

When I say every ‘ state’ or ‘thought’ is part of a personal

PSYCHOLOGY 635

consciousness, ‘ personal consciousness’ is one of the terms in
question. Its meaning we know so long as no one asks us to
define it, but to give an accurate account of it is the most diffi-
cult of philosophic tasks. This task we must confront in the
next chapter; here a preliminary word will suffice.

In this room — this lecture-room, say — there are a multi-
tude of thoughts, yours and mine, some of which cohere mutu-
ally, and some not. They are as little each-for-itself and recip-
rocally independent as they are all-belonging-together. They
are neither: no one of them is separate, but each belongs with
certain others and with none beside. My thought belongs with
my other thoughts, and your thought with your other thoughts.
Whether anywhere in the room there be a mere thought, which
is nobody’s thought, we have no means of ascertaining, for we
have no experience of its like. The only states of consciousness
that we naturally deal with are found in personal conscious-
nesses, minds, selves, concrete particular I’s and you’s.

Each of these minds keeps its own thoughts to itself. There
is no giving or bartering between them. No thought even
comes into direct sight of a thought in another personal con-
sciousness than its own. Absolute insulation, irreducible
pluralism, is the law. It seems asif the elementary psychic fact
were not thought or this thought or that thought, but my thought,
every thought being owned. Neither contemporaneity, nor
proximity in space, nor similarity of quality and content are
able to fuse thoughts together which are sundered by this bar-
rier of belonging to different personal minds. The breaches be-
tween such thoughts are the most absolute breaches in nature.
Every one will recognize this to be true, so long as the existence
of something corresponding to the term ‘ personal mind’ is all
that is insisted on, without any particular view of its nature
being implied. On these terms the personal self rather than the
thought might be treated as the immediate datum in psycho-
logy. The universal conscious fact is not ‘ feelings and thoughts
exist,’ but ‘ I think’ and “I feel.’ No psychology, at any rate,
can question the existence of personal selves. Thoughts con-
nected as we feel them to be connected are what we mean by

636 WILLIAM JAMES

personal selves. The worst a psychology can do is so to inter-
pret the nature of these selves as to rob them of their worth.

Consciousness is inconstant change. —I do not mean by this
to say that no one state of mind has any duration — even if
true, that would be hard to establish. What I wish to lay stress
on is this, that no state once gone can recur and be identical with
what it was before. Now we are seeing, now hearing; now rea-
soning, now willing; now recollecting, now expecting; now lov-
ing, now hating; and in a hundred other ways we know our
minds to be alternately engaged. But all these are complex
states, it may be said, produced by combination of simpler
ones; — do not the simpler ones follow a different law? Are not
the sensations which we get from the same object, for example,
always the same? Does not the same piano-key, struck with
the same force, make us hear in the same way? Does not the
same grass give us the same feeling of green, the same sky the
same feeling of blue, and do we not get the same olfactory sens-
ation no matter how many times we put our nose to the same
flask of cologne? It seems a piece of metaphysical sophistry to
suggest that we do not; and yet a close attention to the matter
shows that there is no proof that an incoming current ever gives us
just the same bodily sensation twice. .

What is got twice is the same OBJECT. We hear the same note
over and over again; we see the same quality of green, or smell
the same objective perfume, or experience the same species of
pain. The realities, concrete and abstract, physical and ideal,
whose permanent existence we believe in, seem to be constantly
coming up again before our thought, and lead us, in our care-
lessness, to suppose that our ‘ideas’ of them are the same
ideas. When we come, some time later, to the chapter on Per-
ception, we shall see how inveterate is our habit of simply using
our sensible impressions as stepping-stones to pass over to the
recognition of the realities whose presence they reveal. The
grass out of the window now looks to me of the same green in
the sun as in the shade, and yet a painter would have to paint
one part of it dark brown, another part bright yellow, to give
its real sensational effect. We take no heed, asa rule, of the dif-

PSYCHOLOGY 637°

ferent way in which the same things look and sound and smell
at different distances and under different circumstances. The
sameness of the things is what we are concerned to ascertain;
and any sensations that assure us of that will probably be con-
sidered in a rough way to be the same with each other. This is
what makes off-hand testimony about the subjective identity
of different sensations well-nigh worthless as a proof of the fact.
The entire history of what is called Sensation is a commentary
on our inability to tell whether two sensible qualities received
apart are exactly alike. What appeals to our attention far
more than the absolute quality of an impression is its ratio to
whatever other impressions we may have at the same time.
When everything is dark a somewhat less dark sensation makes
us see an object white. Helmholtz calculates that the white
marble painted in a picture representing an architectural view
by moonlight is, when seen by daylight, from ten to twenty
thousand times brighter than the real moonlit marble would be.’

Such a difference as this could never have been sensibly
learned; it had to be inferred from a series of indirect consider-
ations. These make us believe that our sensibility is altering
all the time, so that the same object cannot easily give us the
same sensation over again. We feel things differently accord-
ingly as we are sleepy or awake, hungry or full, fresh or tired; .
differently at night and in the morning, differently in summer
and in winter; and above all, differently in childhood, manhood,
and old age. And yet we never doubt that our feelings reveal
the same world, with the same sensible qualities and the same
sensible things occupying it. The difference of the sensibility is
shown best by the difference of our emotion about the things
from one age to another, or when we are in different organic
moods. What was bright and exciting becomes weary, flat,
and unprofitable. The bird’s song is tedious, the breeze is
mournful, the sky is sad.

To these indirect presumptions that our sensations, following
the mutations of our capacity for feeling, are always under-
going an essential change, must be added another presumption,
based on what must happen in the grain. Every sensation corre-

638 WILLIAM JAMES

sponds to some cerebral action. For an identical sensation to
recur it would have to occur the second time in an unmodified
brain. But as this, strictly speaking, is a physiological impossi-
bility, so is an unmodified feeling an impossibility; for to every
brain-modification, however small, we suppose that there must
correspond a change of equal amount in the consciousness
which the brain subserves.

But if the assumption of ‘simple sensations’ recurring in
immutable shape is so easily shown to be baseless, how much
more baseless is the assumption of immutability in the larger
masses of our thought!

For there it is obvious and palpable that our state of mind is
never precisely the same. Every thought we have of a given
fact is, strictly speaking, unique, and only bears a resemblance
of kind with our other thoughts of the same fact. When the
identical fact recurs, we must think of it in a fresh manner, see
it under a somewhat different angle, apprehend it in different
relations from those in which it last appeared. And the thought
by which we cognize it is the thought of it-in-those-relations, a
thought suffused with the consciousness of all that dim con-
text. Often we are ourselves struck at the strange differences in
our successive views of the same thing. We wonder how we
ever could have opined as we did last month about a certain
matter. We have outgrown the possibility of that state of
mind, we know not how. From one year to another we see
things in new lights. What was unreal has grown real, and what
was exciting is insipid. The friends we used to care the world
for are shrunken to shadows; the women once so divine, the
stars, the woods, and the waters, how now so dull and common!
— the young girls that brought an aura of infinity, at present
hardly distinguishable existences; the pictures so empty; and as
for the books, what was there to find so mysteriously significant
in Goethe, or in John Mill so full of weight? Instead of all this,
more zestful than ever is the work, the work; and fuller and
deeper the import of common duties and of common goods.

I am sure that this concrete and total manner of regarding
the mind’s changes is the only true manner, difficult as it may

PSYCHOLOGY 639

be to carry it out in detail. If anything seems obscure about it,
it will grow clearer as we advance. Meanwhile, if it be true,
it is certainly also true that no two “ ideas’ are ever exactly the
same, which is the proposition we started to prove. The pro-
position is more important theoretically than it at first sight
seems. For it makes it already impossible for us to follow
obediently in the footprints of either the Lockian or the
Herbartian school, schools which have had almost unlimited
influence in Germany and among ourselves. No doubt it is
often-convenient to formulate the mental facts in an atomistic
sort of way, and to treat the higher states of consciousness as if
they were all built out of unchanging simple ideas which ‘ pass
and turn again.’ It is convenient often to treat curves as if they
were composed of small straight lines, and electricity and nerve-
force as if they were fluids. But in the one case as in the other
we must never forget that we are talking symbolically, and that
there is nothing in nature to answer to our words. A perma-
nently existing ‘Idea’ which makes its appearance before the
footlights of consciousness at periodical intervals is as mythological
an entity as the Jack of Spades.

Within each personal consciousness, thought is sensibly ~
continuous.—I can only define ‘ continuous ’ as that which is
without breach, crack, or division. The only breaches that can
well be conceived to occur within the limits of a single mind
would either be interruptions, time-gaps during which the con-
sciousness went out; or they would be breaks in the content of
the thought, so abrupt that what followed had no connection
whatever with what went before. The proposition that con-
sciousness feels continuous, means two things:

~a. That even where there is a time-gap the consciousness
after it feels as if it belonged together with the consciousness
before it, as another part of the same self;

b. That the changes from one moment to another in the
quality of the consciousness are never absolutely abrupt.

The case of the time-gaps, as the simplest, shall be taken
first. 7

- a. When Paul and Peter wake up in the same bed, and recog-

640 WILLIAM JAMES

nize that they have been asleep, each one of them mentally
reaches back and makes connection with but one of the two
streams of thought which were broken by the sleeping hours.
As the current of an electrode buried in the ground unerringly
finds its way to its own similarly buried mate, across no matter
how much intervening earth; so Peter’s present instantly finds
out Peter’s past, and never by mistake knits itself on to that of
Paul. Paul’s thought in turn is as little liable to go astray. The
past thought of Peter is appropriated by the present Peter
alone. He may have a knowledge, and a correct one too, of what
Paul’s last drowsy states of mind were as he sank into sleep,
but it is an entirely different sort of knowledge from that which
he has of his own last states. He remembers his own states,
whilst he only conceives Paul’s. Remembrance is like direct
feeling; its object is suffused with a warmth and intimacy to
which no object of mere conception ever attains. This quality
of warmth and intimacy and immediacy is what Peter’s present
thought also possesses for itself. So sure as this present is me, is
mine, it says, so sure is anything else that comes with the same
warmth and intimacy and immediacy, me and mine. What the.
qualities called warmth and intimacy may in themselves be will
have to be matter for future consideration. But whatever past
states appear with those qualities must be admitted to receive
the greeting of the present mental state, to be owned by it, and
accepted as belonging together with it in a common self. This
community of self is what the time-gap cannot break in twain,
and is why a present thought, although not ignorant of the
time-gap, can still regard itself as continuous with certain
chosen portions of the past.

Consciousness, then, does not appear to itself chopped up in
bits. Such words as‘ chain’ or ‘train’ do not describe it fitly
—asit presents itself in the first instance. It is nothing jointed;
it flows. A ‘river’ ora ‘stream’ are the metaphors by which
it is most naturally described. In talking of it hereafter, let us
call it the stream of thought, of consciousness, or of subjective life.

6. But now there appears, even within the limits of the same
self, and between thoughts all of which alike have this same

PSYCHOLOGY 641

sense of belonging together, a kind of jointing and separateness
among the parts, of which this statement seems to take no
account. I refer to the breaks that are produced by sudden
contrasts in the quality of the successive segments of the stream
of thought. If the words ‘ chain’ and ‘ train’ had no natural
fitness in them, how came such words to be used at all? Does
not a loud explosion rend the consciousness upon which it
abruptly breaks, in twain? No; for even into our awareness of
the thunder the awareness of the previous silence creeps and
continues; for what we hear when the thunder crashes is
not thunder pure, but thunder-breaking-upon-silence-and-con-
trasting-with-it. Our feeling of the same objective thunder,
coming in this way, is quite different from what it would be
were the thunder a continuation of previous thunder. The
thunder itself we believe to abolish and exclude the silence; but
the feeling of the thunder is also a feeling of the silence as just
gone; and it would be difficult to find in the actual concrete
consciousness of mana feeling so limited to the present as not
to have an inkling of anything that went before.

‘ Substantive’ and ‘ Transitive’ States of Mind. — When
we take a general view of the wonderful stream of our con-
sciousness, what strikes us first is the different pace of its parts.
Like a bird’s life, it seems to be an alternation of flights and
perchings. The rhythm of language expresses this, where every
thought is expressed in a sentence, and every sentence closed by
a period. The resting-places are usually occupied by sensorial
imaginations of some sort, whose peculiarity is that they can be
held before the mind for an indefinite time, and contemplated
without changing; the places of flight are filled with thoughts
of relations, static or dynamic, that for the most part obtain
between the matters contemplated in the periods of compara-
tive rest.

Let us call the resting-places the ‘ substantive parts,’ and the
places of flight the ‘ transitive parts,’ of the stream of thought. It
then appears that our thinking tends at all times towards some
other substantive part than the one from which it has just been
dislodged. And we may say that the main use of the tran-

642 WILLIAM JAMES

sitive parts is to lead us from one substantive conclusion to
another.

Now it is very difficult, introspectively, to see the transitive
parts for what they really are. If they are but flights to a con-
clusion, stopping them to look at them before the conclusion is
reached is really annihilating them. Whilst if we wait till the
conclusion be reached, it so exceeds them in vigor and stability
that it quite eclipses and swallows them up in its glare. Let
anyone try to cut a thought across in the middle and get a look
at its section, and he will see how difficult the introspective ob-
servation of the transitive tracts is. The rush of the thought is
so headlong that it almost always brings us up at the conclusion
before we can arrest it. Or if our purpose is nimble enough and
we do arrest it, it ceases forthwith to be itself. As a snowflake
crystal caught in the warm hand is no longer a crystal but a
drop, so, instead of catching the feeling of relation moving to
its term, we find we have caught some substantive thing,
usually the last word we were pronouncing, statically taken,
and with its function, tendency, and particular meaning in the
sentence quite evaporated. The attempt at introspective
analysis in these cases is in fact like seizing a spinning top to
catch its motion, or trying to turn up the gas quickly enough to
see how the darkness looks. And the challenge to produce these
transitive states of consciousness, which is sure to be thrown by
doubting psychologists at anyone who contends for their exist-
ence, is as unfair as Zeno’s treatment of the advocates of mo-
tion, when, asking them to point out in what place an arrow is
when it moves, he argues the falsity of their thesis from their
inability to make to so preposterous a question an immediate
reply.

The results of this introspective difficulty are baleful. If to
hold fast and observe the transitive parts of thought’s stream
be so hard, then the great blunder to which all schools are liable
must be the failure to register them, and the undue emphasiz-
ing of the more substantive parts of the stream. Now the
blunder has historically worked in two ways. One set of
thinkers have been led by it to Sensationalism. Unable to lay

PSYCHOLOGY 643

their hands on any substantive feelings corresponding to the
innumerable relations and forms of connection between the
sensible things of the world, finding no zamed mental states
mirroring such relations, they have for the most part denied
that any such states exist; and many of them, like Hume, have
gone on to deny the reality of most relations out of the mind as
well as in it. Simple substantive “ ideas,’ sensations and their
copies, juxtaposed like dominoes in a game, but really separate,
everything else verbal illusion, — such is the upshot of this
view. The Intellectualists, on the other hand, unable to give up
the reality of relations extra mentem, but equally unable to
point to any distinct substantive feelings in which they were
known, have made the same admission that such feelings do not
exist. But they have drawn an opposite conclusion. The rela-
tions must be known, they say, in something that is no feeling,
no mental ‘ state,’ continuous and consubstantial with the sub-
jective tissue out of which sensations and other substantive
conditions of consciousness are made. They must be known by
something that lies on an entirely different plane, by an actus
purus of Thought, Intellect, or Reason, all written with capitals
and considered to mean something unutterably superior to any
passing perishing fact of sensibility whatever.

But from our point of view both Intellectualists and Sensa-
tionalists are wrong. If there be such things as feelings at all,
then so surely as relations between objects exist in rerum natura,
so surely, and more surely, do feelings exist to which these relations
are known. There is not a conjunction or a preposition, and
hardly an adverbial phrase, syntactic form, or inflection of
voice, in human speech, that does not express some shading or
other of relation which we at some moment actually feel to exist
between the larger objects of our thought. If we speak object-
ively, it is the real relations that appear revealed; if we speak
subjectively, it is the stream of consciousness that matches each
of them by an inward coloring of its own. In either case the
relations are numberless, and no existing language is capable of
doing justice to all their shades.

We ought to say a feeling of and, a feeling of z/, a feeling of

644 WILLIAM JAMES

but, and a feeling of by, quite as readily as we say a feeling of
blue or a feeling of cold. Yet we do not: so inveterate has our
habit become of recognizing the existence of the substantive
parts alone, that language almost refuses to lend itself to any
other use. Consider once again the analogy of the brain. We
believe the brain to be an organ whose internal equilibrium is
always in a state of change — the change affecting every part.
The pulses of change are doubtless more violent in one place
than in another, their rhythm more rapid at this time than at
that. As in a kaleidoscope revolving at a uniform rate, al-
though the figures are always rearranging themselves, there are
instants during which the transformation seems minute and
interstitial and almost absent, followed by others when it
shoots with magical rapidity, relatively stable forms thus alter-
nating with forms we should not distinguish if seen again; so in
the brain the perpetual rearrangement must result in some forms
of tension lingering relatively long, whilst others simply come
and pass. But if consciousness corresponds to the fact of rear-
rangement itself, why, if the rearrangement stop not, should the
consciousness ever cease? And if a lingering rearrangement
brings with it one kind of consciousness, why should not a swift
rearrangement bring another kind of consciousness as peculiar
as the rearrangement itself?

The object before the mind always has a ‘ Fringe.’ — There
are other unnamed modifications of consciousness just as im-
portant as the transitive states, and just as cognitive as they.
Examples will show what I mean.

Suppose three successive persons say to us: ‘ Wait!’ ‘Hark!’
‘Look!’ Our consciousness is thrown into three quite different
attitudes of expectancy, although no definite object is before it.
in any one of the three cases. Probably no one will deny here the
existence of a real conscious affection, a sense of the direction
from which an impression is about to come, although no posi-
tive impression is yet there. Meanwhile we have no names for
the psychoses in question but the names hark, look, and wait.

Suppose we try to recall a forgotten name. The state of our
consciousness is peculiar. There is a gap therein; but no mere

PSYCHOLOGY 648

gap. It is a gap that is intensely active. A sort of wraith of the
name is in it, beckoning us in a given direction, making us at
moments tingle with the sense of our closeness, and then letting
us sink back without the longed-for term. If wrong names are
proposed to us, this singularly definite gap acts immediately so
as to negate them. They do not fit into its mould. And-the gap
of one word does not feel like the gap of another, all empty of
content as both might seem necessarily to be when described as
gaps. When I vainly try to recall the name of Spalding, my con-
sciousness is far removed from what it is when I vainly try to
recall the name of Bowles. There are innumerable conscious-
nesses of want, no one of which taken in itself has a name, but
all different from each other. Such a feeling of want is toto celo
other than a want of feeling: it is an intense feeling. The
rhythm of a lost word may be there without a sound to clothe it;
or the evanescent sense of something which is the initial vowel
or consonant may mock us fitfully, without growing more dis-
tinct. Every one must know the tantalizing effect of the blank
rhythm of some forgotten verse, restlessly dancing in one’s
mind, striving to be filled out with words.

What is that first instantaneous glimpse of some one’s mean-
ing which we have, when in vulgar phrase we say we ‘twig’ it?
Surely an altogether specific affection of our mind. And has the
reader never asked himself what kind of a mental fact is his
intention of saying a thing before he has said it? It is an entirely
definite intention, distinct from all other intentions, an abso-
lutely distinct state of consciousness, therefore; and yet how
much of it consists of definite sensorial images, either of words
or of things? Hardly anything! Linger, and the words and
things come into the mind; the anticipatory intention, the
divination is there no more. But as the words that replace it
arrive, it welcomes them successively and calls them right if
they agree with it, it rejects them and calls them wrong if they
do not. The intention to-say-so-and-so is the only name it can
receive. One may admit that a good third of our psychic
life consists in these rapid premonitory perspective views of
schemes of thought not yet articulate. How comes it about that

646 WILLIAM JAMES

a man reading something aloud for the first time is able imme-
diately to emphasize all his words aright, unless from the very
first he have a sense of at least the form of the sentence yet to
come, which sense is fused with his consciousness of the present
word, and modifies its emphasis in his mind so as to make him
give it the proper accent as he utters it? Emphasis of this kind
almost altogether depends on grammatical construction. If we
read ‘no more,’ we expect presently a ‘than’; if we read ‘how-
ever,’ itis a ‘yet,’ a ‘still,’ or a ‘nevertheless,’ that we expect.
And this foreboding of the coming verbal and grammatical
scheme is so practically accurate that a reader incapable of
understanding four ideas of the book he is reading aloud
can nevertheless read it with the most delicately modulated
expression of intelligence.

It is, the reader will see, the reinstatement of the vague and
inarticulate to its proper place in our mental life which I am so
anxious to press on the attention. Mr. Galton and Prof. Huxley
have, as we shall see in the chapter on Imagination, made one
step in advance in exploding the ridiculous theory of Hume and
Berkeley that we can have no images but of perfectly definite
things. Another is made if we overthrow the equally ridiculous
notion that, whilst simple objective qualities are revealed to
our knowledge in ‘states of consciousness,’ relations are not.
But these reforms are not half sweeping and radical enough.
What must be admitted is that the definite images of tradi-
tional psychology form but the very smallest part of our minds
as they actually live. The traditional psychology talks like one
who should say a river consists of nothing but pailsful, spoons-
ful, quartpotsful, barrelsful, and other moulded forms of water.
Even were the pails and the pots all actually standing in the
stream, still between them the free water would continue to
flow. It is just this free water of consciousness that psycholo-
gists resolutely overlook. Every definite image in the mind is
steeped and dyed in the free water that flows round it. With it
goes the sense of its relations, near and remote, the dying echo
of whence it came to us, the dawning sense of whither it is to
lead. The significance, the value, of the image is all in this halo

PSYCHOLOGY 64.7

or penumbra that surrounds and escorts it, — or rather that is
fused into one with it and has become bone of its bone and flesh
of its flesh; leaving it, it is true, an image of the same thing it
was before, but making it an image of that thing newly taken
and freshly understood.

Let us call the consciousness of this halo of relations around the
image by the name of ‘psychic overtone’ or ‘ fringe.’

Cerebral Conditions of the ‘Fringe.’— Nothing is easier
than to symbolize these facts in terms of brain-action. Just as
the echo of the whence, the sense of the starting point of our
thought, is probably due to the dying excitement of processes
but a moment since vividly aroused; so the sense of the whither,
the foretaste of the terminus, must be due to the waxing excite-
ment of tracts or processes whose psychical correlative will a
moment hence be the vividly present feature of our thought.
Represented by a curve, the neurosis underlying consciousness
must at any moment be like this:

Let the horizontal in Fig. 1 be the line of time, and let the

Fic.) 1:

three curves beginning at a, b, and ¢ respectively stand for the
neural processes correlated with the thoughts of those three
letters. Each process occupies a certain time during which its
intensity waxes, culminates, and wanes. The process for a has
not yet died out, the process for c has already begun, when that
for b is culminating. At the time-instant represented by the
vertical line all three processes are present, in the intensities
shown by the curve. Those before c’s apex were more intense a
moment ago; those after it wzll be more intense a moment

(648 WILLIAM JAMES

hence. If I recite a, b, c, then, at the moment of uttering J,
neither a nor c is out of my consciousness altogether, but both,
after their respective fashions, ‘ mix their dim lights’ with the
stronger b, because their processes are both awake in some
degree.

It is just like ‘ overtones’ in music: they are not separately
heard by the ear; they blend with the fundamental note, and
suffuse it, and alter it; and even so do the waxing and waning
brain-processes at every moment blend with and suffuse and
alter the psychic effect of the processes which are at their
culminating point.

The ‘ Topic’ of the Thought. — If we then consider the cog-
nitive function of different states of mind, we may feel assured
that the difference between those that are mere ‘ acquaintance’
and those that are ‘ knowledges-about’ is reducible almost en-
tirely to the absence or presence of psychic fringes or overtones.
Knowledge about a thing is knowledge of its relations. Ac-
quaintance with it is limitation to the bare impression which it
makes. Of most of its relations we are only aware in the penum-
bral nascent way of a ‘ fringe’ of unarticulated affinities about
it. And, before passing to the next topic in order, I must say a
little of this sense of affinity, as itself one of the most interesting
features of the subjective stream.

Thought may be equally rational in any sort of terms.—Jnall
our voluntary thinking there is some TOPIC or SUBJECT about
which all the members of the thought revolve. Relation to this
topic or interest is constantly felt in the fringe, and particularly
the relation of harmony and discord, of furtherance or hind-
rance of the topic. Any thought the quality of whose fringe lets .
us feel ourselves ‘ all right,’ may be considered a thought that
furthers the topic. Provided we only feel its object to have a
place in the scheme of relations in which the topic also lies, that
is sufficient to make it of a relevant and appropriate portion of
our train of ideas.

Now we may think about our topic mainly in words, or we
may think about it mainly in visual or other images, but this
need make no difference as regards the furtherance of our

PSYCHOLOGY 649

knowledge of the topic. If we only feel in the terms, whatever
they be, a fringe of affinity with each other and with the topic,
and if we are conscious of approaching a conclusion, we feel
that our thought is rational and right. The words in every
language have contracted by long association fringes of mutual
repugnance or affinity with each other and with the conclusion,
which run exactly parallel with like fringes in the visual, tactile,
and other ideas. The most important element of these fringes
is, lrepeat, the mere feeling of harmony or discord, of a right or
wrong direction in the thought.

If we know English and French and begin a sentence in
French, all the later words that come are French; we hardly
ever drop into English. And this affinity of the French words
for each other is not something merely operating mechanically
as a brain-law, it is something we feel at the time. Our under-
standing of a French sentence heard never falls to so low an ebb
that we are not aware that the words linguistically belong to-
gether. Our attention can hardly so wander that if an English
word be suddenly introduced we shall not start at the change.
Such a vague sense as this of the words belonging together is
the very minimum of fringe that can accompany them, if
‘thought’ at all. Usually the vague perception that all the
words we hear belong to the same language and to the same
specia! vocabulary in that language, and that the grammatical
sequence is familiar, is practically equivalent to an admission
that what we hear is sense. But if an unusual foreign word be
introduced, if the grammar trip, or if a term from an incon-
gruous vocabulary suddenly appear, such as ‘rat-trap’ or
‘plumber’s bill’ in a philosophical discourse, the sentence
detonates as it were, we receive a shock from the incongruity,
and the drowsy assent is gone. The feeling of rationality in
these cases seems rather a negative than a positive thing, being
the mere absence of shock, or sense of discord, between the
terms of thought.

Conversely, if words do belong to the same vocabulary, and
if the grammatical structure is correct, sentences with abso-
lutely no meaning may be uttered in good faith and pass un-

650 WILLIAM JAMES

challenged. Discourses at prayer-meetings, reshuffling the
same collection of cant phrases and the whole genus of penny-a-
line-isms and newspaper-reporter’s flourishes give illustrations
of this. “ The birds filled the tree-tops with their morning
song, making the air moist, cool, and pleasant,” is a sentence
I remember reading once in a report of some athletic exer-
cises in Jerome Park. It was probably written unconsciously
by the hurried reporter, and read uncritically by many
readers.

We see, then, that it makes little or no difference in what sort
of mind-stuff, in what quality of imagery, our thinking goes on.
The only images intrinsically important are the halting-places,
the substantive conclusions, provisional or final, of the thought.
Throughout all the rest of the stream, the feelings of relation
are everything, and the terms related almost naught. These
feelings of relation, these psychic overtones, halos, suffusions,
or fringes about the terms, may be the same in very different

systems of imagery. A diagram
may help to accentuate this in-
4 Z difference of the mental means
where the end is the same. Let
A be some experience from
which a number of thinkers
start. Let Z be the practical
conclusion rationally inferrable
from it. One gets to this conclusion by one line, another by
another ; one follows a course of English, another of German,
verbal imagery. With one, visual images predominate; with
another, tactile. Some trains are tinged with emotions, others
not; some are very abridged, synthetic and rapid; others, hesi-
tating and broken into many steps. But when the penultimate
terms of all the trains, however differing inter se, finally shoot
into the same conclusion, we say, and rightly say, that all the
thinkers have had substantially the same thought. It would
probably astound each of them beyond measure to be let into
his neighbor’s mind and to find how different the scenery there
was from that in his own.

Fic. 2.

PSYCHOLOGY 651

The last peculiarity to which attention is to be drawn in this
first rough description of thoughts’ stream is that —

Consciousness is always interested more in one part of its
object than in another, and welcomes and rejects, or chooses,
all the while it thinks.

The phenomena of selective attention and of deliberative
will are of course patent examples of this choosing activity.
But few of us are aware how incessantly it is at work in opera-
tions not ordinarily called by these names. Accentuation and
Emphasis are present in every perception we have. We find it
quite impossible to disperse our attention impartially over a
number of impressions. A monotonous succession of sonorous
strokes is broken up into rhythms, now of one sort, now of an-
other, by the different accent which we place on different
strokes. The simplest of these rhythms is the double one, tick-:
téck, tick-t6ck, tick-t6ck. Dots dispersed on a surface are per-
ceived in rows and groups. Lines separate into diverse figures.
The ubiquity of the distinctions, this and that, here and there,
now and then, in our minds is the result of our laying the same
selective emphasis on parts of place and time.

But we do far more than emphasize things, and unite some,
and keep others apart. We actually zgnore most of the things
before us. Let me briefly show how this goes on.

To begin at the bottom, what are our very senses themselves,
but organs of selection? Out of the infinite chaos of move-
ments, of which physics teaches us that the outer world con-
sists, each sense-organ picks out those which fall within certain
limits of velocity. To these it responds, but ignores the rest as
completely as if they did not exist. Out of what is in itself an
undistinguishable, swarming continuum, devoid of distinction
or emphasis, our senses make for us, by attending to this mo-
tion and ignoring that, a world full of contrasts, of sharp
accents, of abrupt changes, of picturesque light and shade.

If the sensations we receive from a given organ have their
causes thus picked out for us by the conformation of the organ’s
termination, Attention, on the other hand, out of all the sensa-
tions yielded, picks out certain ones as worthy of its notice and

652 WILLIAM JAMES

suppresses all the rest. We notice only those sensations which
are signs tous of things which happen practically or esthetically
to interest us, to which we therefore give substantive names,
and which we exalt to this exclusive status of independence and
dignity. But in itself, apart from my interest, a particular dust-
wreath on a windy day is just as much of an individual thing,
and just as much or as little deserves an individual name, as
my own body does.

And then, among the sensations we get from each separate
thing, what happens? The mind selects again. It chooses cer-
tain of the sensations to represent the thing most éruly, and
considers the rest as its appearances, modified by the condi-
tions of the moment. Thus my table-top is named square, after
but one of an infinite number of retinal sensations which it
yields, the rest of them being sensations of two acute and two
obtuse angles; but I call the latter perspective views, and the
four right angles the true form of the table, and erect the at-
tribute squareness into the table’s essence, for esthetic reasons
of my own. In like manner, the real form of the circle is deemed
to be the sensation it gives when the line of vision is perpendicu-
lar to its centre — all its other sensations are sigs of this sensa-
tion. The real sound of the cannon is the sensation it makes
when the ear is close by. The real color of the brick is the sensa-
tion it gives when the eye looks squarely at it from a near point,
out of the sunshine and yet not in the gloom; under other cir-
cumstances it gives us other color-sensations which are but
signs of this — we then see it look pinker or bluer than it
really is. The reader knows no object which he does not repre-
sent to himself by preference as in some typical attitude, of
some normal size, at some characteristic distance, of some stan-
dard tint, etc., etc. But all these essential characteristics,
which together form for us the genuine objectivity of the thing
and are contrasted with what we call the subjective sensations
it may yield us at a given moment, are mere sensations like the
latter. The mind chooses to suit itself, and decides what par-
ticular sensation shall be held more real and valid than all the
rest.

PSYCHOLOGY 653

Next, in a world of objects thus individualized by our mind’s
selective industry, what is called our ‘ experience’ is almost
entirely determined by our habits of attention. A thing may be
present to a man a hundred times, but if he presistently fails to
notice it, it cannot be said to enter into his experience. We
are all seeing flies, moths, and beetles by the thousand, but to
whom, save an entomologist, do they say anything distinct?
On the other hand, a thing met only once in a lifetime may leave
an indelible experience in the memory. Let four men make a
tour in Europe. One will bring home only picturesque impres-
sions — costumes and colors, parks and views and works of
architecture, pictures and statues. To another all this will be
non-existent; and distances and prices, populations and drain-
age-arrangements, door- and window-fastenings, and other
useful statistics will take their place. A third will give a rich
account of the theatres, restaurants, and public halls, and
naught beside; whilst the fourth will perhaps have been so
wrapped in his own subjective broodings as to be able to tell
little more than a few names of places through which he passed.
Each has selected, out of the same mass of presented objects,
those which suited his private interest and has made his experi-
ence thereby.

If now, leaving the empirical combination of objects, we ask
how the mind proceeds rationally to connect them, we find
selection again to be omnipotent. In a future chapter we shall
see that all Reasoning depends on the ability of the mind to
break up the totality of the phenomenon reasoned about, into
parts, and to pick out from among these the particular one
which, in the given emergency, may lead to the proper conclu-
sion. The man of genius is he who will always stick in his bill
at the right point, and bring it out with the right element —
‘reason’ if the emergency be theoretical, ‘means’ if it be
practical — transfixed upon it.

If now we pass to the esthetic department, our law is still
more obvious. The artist notoriously selects his items, rejecting
all tones, colors, shapes, which do not harmonize with each
other and with the main purpose of his work. That unity, har-

654 WILLIAM JAMES

mony, ‘ convergence of characters,’ as M. Taine calls it, which
gives to works of art their superiority over works of nature, is
wholly due to elimination. Any natural subject will do, if the
artist has wit enough to pounce upon some one feature of it as
characteristic, and suppress all merely accidental items which
do not harmonize with this.

Ascending still higher, we reach the plane of Ethics, where
choice reigns notoriously supreme. An act has no ethical qual-
ity whatever unless it be chosen out of several all equally pos-
sible. To sustain the arguments for the good course and keep
them ever before us, to stifle our longing for more flowery ways,
to keep the foot unflinchingly on the arduous path, these are
characteristic ethical energies. But more than these; for these
but deal with the means of compassing interests already felt by
the man to be supreme. The ethical energy par excellence has to
go farther and choose which interest out of several, equally co-
ercive, shall become supreme. The issue here is of the utmost
pregnancy, for it decides a man’s entire career. When he de-
bates, Shall I commit this crime? choose that profession? ac-
cept that office, or marry this fortune? — his choice really lies
between one of several equally possible future Characters.
What he shall become is fixed by the conduct of this moment.
Schopenhauer, who enforces his determinism by the argument
that with a given fixed character only one reaction is possible
under given circumstances, forgets that, in these critical ethical
moments, what consciously seems to be in question is the com-
plexion of the character itself. The problem with the man is
less what act he shall now resolve to do than what being he shall
now choose to become.

Taking human experience in a general way, the choosings of
different men are to a great extent the same. The race as a
whole largely agrees as to what it shall notice and name; and
among the noticed parts we select in much the same way for
accentuation and preference, or subordination and dislike.
There is, however, one entirely extraordinary case in which no
two men ever are known to choose alike. One great splitting
of the whole universe into two halves is made by each of us;

PSYCHOLOGY 655

and for each of us almost all of the interest attaches to one of
the halves; but we all draw the line of division between them
in a different place. When I say that we all call the two halves
by the same names, and that those names are ‘ me’ and ‘ not-
me’ respectively, it will at once be seen what I mean. The alto-
gether unique kind of interest which each human mind feels in
those parts of creation which it can call me or mine may be a
moral riddle, but it is a fundamental psychological fact. No
mind can take the same interest in his neighbor’s me as in his
own. The neighbor’s me falls together with all the rest of things
in one foreign mass against which his own me stands out in
startling relief. Even the trodden worm, as Lotze somewhere
says, contrasts his own suffering self with the whole remaining
universe, though he have noclear conception either of himself or
of what the universe may be. He is for me a mere part of the
world; for him it is I who am the mere part. Each of us dicho-
tomizes the Kosmos in a different place.

CHAPTER XXIV. EMOTION!

Emotions compared with Instincts. — An emotion is a tend-
ency to feel, and an instinct is a tendency to act, charactéristic-
ally, when in presence of a certain object in the environment.
But the emotions also have their bodily ‘expression,’ which
may involve strong muscular activity (as in fear or anger, for
example) ; and it becomesa little hard in many cases to separate
the description of the ‘emotional’ condition from that of the
‘ instinctive ’ reaction which one and the same object may pro-
voke. Shall fear be described in the chapter on Instincts or in
that on Emotions? Where shall one describe curiosity, emula-
tion, and the like? The answer is quite arbitrary from the scien-
tific point of view, and practical convenience may decide. As
inner mental conditions, emotions are quite indescribable.
Description, moreover, would be superfluous, for the reader

1 The substance of this chapter first appeared in an article published in
Mind in 1884, and again as a chapter in the author’s Principles of Psychology,
in 1890.

656 WILLIAM JAMES

knows already how they feel. Their relations to the objects
which prompt them and to the reactions which they provoke
are all that one can put down in a book.

Every object that excites an instinct excites an emotion as
well. The only distinction one may draw is that the reaction
called emotional terminates in the subject’s own body, whilst
the reaction called instinctive is apt to go farther and enter
into practical relations with the exciting object. In both
instinct and emotion the mere memory or imagination of the
object may suffice to liberate the excitement. One may even
get angrier in thinking over one’s insult than one was in receiv-
ing it; and melt more over a mother who is dead than one ever
did when she was living. In the rest of the chapter I shall use
the word object of emotion indifferently to mean one which is
physically present or one which is merely thought of.

The varieties of emotion are innumerable. — Anger, fear, love,
hate, joy, grief, shame, pride, and their varieties, may be called
the coarser emotions, being coupled as they are with relatively
strong bodily reverberations. The subiler emotions are the
moral, intellectual, and esthetic feelings, and their bodily reac-
tion is usually much less strong. The mere description of the
objects, circumstances, and varieties of the different species of
emotion may go to any length. Their internal shadings merge
endlessly into each other, and have been partly commemorated
in language, as, for example, by such synonyms as hatred,
antipathy, animosity, resentment, dislike, aversion, malice,
spite, revenge, abhorrence, etc., etc. Dictionaries of synonyms
have discriminated them, as well as text-books of psychology
— in fact, many German psychological text-books are nothing
but dictionaries of synonyms when it comes to the chapter on
Emotion. But there are limits to the profitable elaboration of
the obvious, and the result of all this flux is that the merely
descriptive literature of the subject, from Descartes down-
wards is one of the most tedious parts of psychology. And not
only is it tedious, but you feel that its subdivisions are to a
great extent either fictitious or unimportant, and that its pre-
tences to accuracy are a sham. But unfortunately there is

PSYCHOLOGY : 657

little psychological writing about the emotions which is not
merely descriptive. As emotions are described in novels, they
interest us, for we are made to share them. We have grown
acquainted with the concrete objects and emergencies which
call them forth, and any knowing touch of introspection which
may grace the page meets with a quick and feeling response.
Confessedly literary works of aphoristic philosophy also flash
lights into our emotional life, and give us a fitful delight. But
as far as the ‘scientific psychology ’ of the emotions goes, I may
have been surfeited by too much reading of classic works on the
subject, but I would as lief read verbal descriptions of the shapes
of the rocks on a New Hampshire farm as toil through them
again. They give one nowhere a central point of view, or a de-
ductive or generative principle. They distinguish and refine
and specify im infinitum without ever getting on to another
logical level. Whereas the beauty of all truly scientific work is
to get to ever deeper levels. Is there no way out from this level
of individual description in the case of the emotions? I believe
there is a way out, if one will only take it.

The Cause of their Varieties. — The trouble with the emo-
tions in psychology is that they are regarded too much as abso-
lutely individual things. So long as they are set down as so
many eternal and sacred psychic entities, like the old immu-
table species in natural history, so long all that can be done
with them is reverently to catalogue their separate characters,
points, and effects. But if we regard them as products of more
general causes (as ‘ species’ are now regarded as products of
heredity and variation), the mere distinguishing and catalogu-
ing becomes of subsidiary importance. Having the goose which
lays the golden eggs, the description of each egg already laid is
a minor matter. I will devote the next few pages to setting
forth one very general cause of our emotional feeling, limiting
myself in the first instance to what may be called the coarser
emotions.

The feeling, in the coarser emotions, results from the bodily
expression. — Our natural way of thinking about these coarser
emotions is that the mental perception of some fact excites the

658 WILLIAM JAMES

mental affection called the emotion, and that this latter state
of mind gives rise to the bodily expression. My theory, on the
contrary, is that the bodily changes follow directly the perception
of the exciting fact, and that our feeling of the same changes as
they occur IS the emotion. Common-sense says, we lose our for-
tune, are sorry and weep; we meet a bear, are frightened and
run; we are insulted by a rival, are angry and strike. The
hypothesis here to be defended says that this order of sequence
is incorrect, and the one mental state is not immediately in-
duced by the other, that the bodily manifestations must first
be interposed between, and that the more rational statement is
that we feel sorry because we cry, angry because we strike,
afraid because we tremble, and not that we cry, strike, or trem-
ble because we are sorry, angry, or fearful, as the case may be.
Without the bodily states following on the perception, the lat-
ter would be purely cognitive in form, pale, colorless, destitute
of emotional warmth. We might then see the bear and judge
it best to run, receive the insult and deem it right to strike, but
we should not actually feel afraid or angry.

Stated in this crude way, the hypothesis is pretty sure to
meet with immediate disbelief. And yet neither many nor
far-fetched considerations are required to mitigate its para-
doxical character, and possibly to produce conviction of its
truth.

To begin with, particular perceptions certainly do produce
wide-spread bodily effects by a sort of immediate physical influ-
ence, antecedent to the arousal of an emotion or emotional idea.
In listening to poetry, drama, or heroic narrative we are often
surprised at the cutaneous shiver which like a sudden wave
flows over us, and at the heart-swelling and the lachrymal
effusion that unexpectedly catch us at intervals. In hearing
music the same is even more strikingly true. If we abruptly see
a dark moving form in the woods, our heart stops beating, and
we catch our breath instantly and before any articulate idea of
danger can arise. If our friend goes near to the edge of a preci-
pice, we get the well-known feeling of ‘ all-overishness,’ and
we shrink back, although we positively know him to be safe,

PSYCHOLOGY 659

and have no distinct imagination of his fall. The writer well
remembers his astonishment, when a boy of seven or eight, at
fainting when he saw a horse bled. The blood was in a bucket,
with a stick in it, and, if memory does not deceive him, he
stirred it round and saw it drip from the stick with no feeling
save that of childish curiosity. Suddenly the world grew black
before his eyes, his ears began to buzz, and he knew no more.
He had never heard of the sight of blood producing faintness or
sickness, and he had so little repugnance to it, and so little
apprehension of any other sort of danger from it, that even at
that tender age, as he well remembers, he could not help wonder-
ing how the mere physical presence of a pailful of crimson fluid
could occasion in him such formidable bodily effects.

The best proof that the immediate cause of emotion is a
physical effect on the nerves is furnished by those pathological
cases in which the emotion is objectless. One of the chief merits,
in fact, of the view which I propose seems to be that we can so
easily formulate by its means pathological cases and normal
cases under a common scheme. In every asylum we find exam-
ples of absolutely unmotived fear, anger, melancholy, or con-
ceit; and others of an equally unmotived apathy which persists
in spite of the best of outward reasons why it should give way.
In the former cases we must suppose the nervous machinery to
be so ‘labile’ in some one emotional direction that almost
every stimulus (however inappropriate) causes it to upset in
that way, and to engender the particular complex of feelings of
which the psychic body of the emotion consists. Thus, to take
one special instance, if inability to draw deep breath, fluttering
of the heart, and that peculiar epigastric change felt as ‘ pre-
cordial anxiety,’ with an irresistible tendency to take a some-
what crouching attitude and to sit still, and with perhaps other
visceral processes not now known, all spontaneously occur to-
gether in a certain person, his feeling of their combination 7s the
emotion of dread, and he is the victim of what is known as
morbid fear. A friend who has had occasional attacks of this
most distressing of all maladies tells me that in his case the
whole drama seems to centre about the region of the heart and

660 WILLIAM JAMES

respiratory apparatus, that his main effort during the attacks
is to get control of his inspirations and to slow his heart, and
that the moment he attains to breathing deeply and to holding
himself erect, the dread, zpso facto, seems to depart.

The emotion here is nothing but the feeling of a bodily state,
and it has a purely bodily cause.

The next thing to be noticed is this, that every one of the
bodily changes, whatsoever it be, is FELT, acutely or obscurely, the
moment it occurs. If the reader has never paid attention to this
matter, he will be both interested and astonished to learn how
many different local bodily feelings he can detect in himself as
characteristic of his various emotional moods. It would be per-
haps too much to expect him to arrest the tide of any strong
gust of passion for the sake of any such curious analysis as this;
but he can observe more tranquil states, and that may be
assumed here to be true of the greater which is shown to be
true of the less. Our whole cubic capacity is sensibly alive;
and each morsel of it contributes its pulsations of feeling, dim
or sharp, pleasant, painful, or dubious, to that sense of per-
sonality that every one of us unfailingly carries with him. It is
surprising what little items give accent to these complexes of
sensibility. When worried by any slight trouble, one may find
that the focus of one’s bodily consciousness is the contraction
often quite inconsiderable, of the eyes and brows. When mo-
mentarily embarrassed, it is something in the pharynx that
compels either a swallow, a clearing of the throat, or a slight
cough; and so on for as many more instances as might be
named. The various permutations of which these organic
changes are susceptible make it abstractly possible that no
shade of emotion should be without a bodily reverberation as
unique, when taken in its totality, as is the mental mood itself.
The immense number of parts modified is what makes it so diffi-
cult for us to reproduce in cold blood the total and integral
expression of any one emotion. We may catch the trick with
the voluntary muscles, but fail with the skin, glands, heart, and
other viscera. Just as an artificially imitated sneeze lacks some-
thing of the reality, so the attempt to imitate grief or enthusi-

PSYCHOLOGY 661

asm in the absence of its normal instigating cause is apt to be
rather ‘ hollow.’

I now proceed to urge the vital point of my whole theory,
which is this: If we fancy some strong emotion, and then try to
abstract from our consciousness of it all the feelings of its bodily
symptoms, we find we have nothing left behind, no ‘ mind-stuft ’
out of which the emotion can be constituted, and that a cold and
neutral state of intellectual perception is all that remains. It is
true that, although most people, when asked, say that their
introspection verifies this statement, some persist in saying
theirs does not. Many cannot be made to understand the ques-
tion. When you beg them to imagine away every feeling of
laughter and of tendency to laugh from their consciousness of
the ludicrousness of an object, and then to tell you what the
feeling of its ludicrousness would be like, whether it be any-
thing more than the perception that the object belongs to the
class “ funny,’ they persist in replying that the thing proposed
is a physical impossibility, and that they always must laugh if
they see a funny object. Of course the task proposed is not the
practical one of seeing a ludicrous object and annihilating one’s
tendency to laugh. It is the purely speculative one of subtract-
ing certain elements of feeling from an emotional state sup-
posed to exist in its fulness, and saying what the residual ele-
ments are. I cannot help thinking that all who rightly appre-
hend this problem will agree with the proposition above laid
down. What kind of an emotion of fear would be left if the
feeling neither of quickened heart-beats nor of shallow breath-
ing, neither of trembling lips nor of weakened limbs, neither of
goose-flesh nor of visceral stirrings, were present, it is quite
impossible for me to think. Can one fancy the state of rage
and picture no ebullition in the chest, no flushing of the face, no
dilatation of the nostrils, no clenching of the teeth, no impulse
to vigorous action, but in their stead limp muscles, calm
breathing, and a placid face? The present writer, for one, cer-
tainly cannot. The rage is as completely evaporated as the sens-
ation of its so-called manifestations, and the only thing that
can possibly be supposed to take its place is some cold-blooded

662 WILLIAM JAMES

and dispassionate judicial sentence, confined entirely to the
intellectual realm, to the effect that a certain person or persons
merit chastisement for their sins.. In like manner of grief: what
would it be without its tears, its sobs, its suffocation of the
heart, its pang in the breast-bone? A feelingless cognition that
certain circumstances are deplorable, and nothing more.
Every passion in turn tells the same story. A disembodied
human emotion is a sheer nonentity. I do not say that it is a
contradiction in the nature of things, or that pure spirits are
necessarily condemned to cold intellectual lives; but I say that
for us emotion dissociated from all bodily feeling is inconceiv-
able. The more closely I scrutinize my states, the more per-
suaded I become that whatever ‘ coarse’ affections and passions
I have are in very truth constituted by, and made up of, those
bodily changes which we ordinarily call their expression or con-
sequence; and the more it seems to me that, if I were to become
corporeally anesthetic, I should be excluded from the life of
the affections, harsh and tender alike, and drag out an existence
of merely cognitive or intellectual form. Such an existence,
although it seems to have been the ideal of ancient sages, is too
apathetic to be keenly sought after by those born after the
revival of the worship of sensibility, a few generations ago.
Let not this view be called materialistic. — It is neither more
nor less materialistic than any other view which says that our
emotions are conditioned by nervous processes. No reader of
this book is likely to rebel against such a saying so long as it is
expressed in general terms; and if any one still finds material-
ism in the thesis now defended, that must be because of the
special processes invoked. They are sensational processes, pro-
cesses due to inward currents set up by physical happenings.
Such processes have, it is true, always been regarded by the
platonizers in psychology as having something peculiarly base
about them. But our emotions must always be inwardly what
they are, whatever be the physiological ground of their appari-
tion. If they are deep, pure, worthy, spiritual facts on any
conceivable theory of their physiological source, they remain
no less deep, pure, spiritual, and worthy of regard on this

PSYCHOLOGY 663

present sensational theory. They carry their own inner meas-
ure of worth with them; and it is just as logical to use the
present theory of the emotions for proving that sensational
processes need not be vile and material, as to use their vileness
and materiality as a proof that such a theory cannot be true.

This view explains the great variability of emotion. —If such
a theory is true, then each emotion is the resultant of a sum of
elements, and each element is caused by a physiological pro-
cess of a sort already well known. The elements are all organic
changes, and each of them is the reflex effect of the exciting
object. Definite questions now immediately arise — questions
very different from those which were the only possible ones
without this view. Those questions were of classification:
‘“ Which are the proper genera of emotion, and which the spe-
cies under each? ” — or of description: “ By what expression
iseach emotion characterized? ” The questions now are causal:
“Just what changes does this object and what changes does that
object excite? ” and “ How come they to excite these particular
changes and not others? ” We step from a superficial to a deep
order of inquiry. Classification and description are the lowest
stage of science. They sink into the background the moment
questions of causation are formulated, and remain important
only so far as they facilitate our answering these. Now the
moment an emotion is causally accounted for, as the arousal
by an object of a lot of reflex acts which are forthwith felt, we
immediately see why there is no limit to the number of possible dif-
ferent emotions which may exist, and why the emotions of different
individuals may vary indefinitely, both as to their constitution
and as to the objects which call them forth. For there is nothing
sacramental or eternally fixed in reflex action. Any sort of reflex
effect is possible, and reflexes actually vary indefinitely, as we
know.

In short, any classification of the emotions is seen to be as true
and as ‘ natural’ as any other, if it only serves some purpose;
and such a question as “ What is the ‘ real’ or “ typical’ ex-
pression of anger, or fear? ”’ is seen to have no objective mean-
ing at all. Instead of it we now have the question as to how

664 _ WILLIAM JAMES

any given ‘ expression’ of anger or fear may have come to
exist; and that is a real question of physiological mechanics on
the one hand, and of history on the other, which (like all real
questions) is in essence answerable, although the answer may
be hard to find. Ona later page I shall mention the attempts to
answer it which have been made.

A Corollary verified. — If our theory be true, a necessary
corollary of it ought to be this: that any voluntary and cold-
blooded arousal of the so-called manifestations of a special
emotion should give us the emotion itself. Now within the lim-
its in which it can be verified, experience corroborates rather
than disproves this inference. Everyone knows how panic is
increased by flight, and how the giving way to the symptoms of
grief or anger increases those passions themselves. Each fit of
sobbing makes the sorrow more acute, and calls forth another
fit stronger still, until at last repose only ensues with lassitude
and with the apparent exhaustion of the machinery. In rage,
it is notorious how we ‘ work ourselves up’ to a climax by
repeated outbreaks of expression. Refuse to express a passion,
and it dies. Count ten before venting your anger, and its occa-
sion seems ridiculous. Whistling to keep up courage is no mere
figure of speech. On the other hand, sit all day in a moping
posture, sigh, and reply to everything with a dismal voice, and
your melancholy lingers. There is no more valuable precept in
moral education than this, as all who have experience know
if we wish to conquer undesirable emotional tendencies in our-
selves, we must assiduously, and in the first instance cold-
bloodedly, go through the outward movements of those contrary
dispositions which we prefer to cultivate. The reward of per-
sistency will infallibly come, in the fading out of the sullenness
or depression, and the advent of real cheerfulness and kindli-
ness in their stead. Smooth the brow, brighten the eye, con-
tract the dorsal rather than the ventral aspect of the frame, and
speak in a major key, pass the genial compliment, and your
heart must be frigid indeed if it do not gradually thaw!

Against this it is to be said that many actors who perfectly
mimic the outward appearances of emotion in face, gait, and

PSYCHOLOGY 665

voice declare that they feel no emotion at all. Others, however,
according to Mr. Wm. Archer, who has made a very instructive
statistical inquiry among them, say that the emotion of the
part masters them whenever they play it well. The explanation
for the discrepancy amongst actors is probably simple. The
visceral and organic part of the expression can be suppressed in
some men, but not in others, and on this it must be that the
chief part of the felt emotion depends. Those actors who feel
the emotion are probably unable, those who are inwardly cold
are probably able, to affect the dissociation in a complete way.

An Objection replied to. — It may be objected to the general
theory which I maintain that stopping the expression of an
emotion often makes it worse. The funniness becomes quite
excruciating when we are forbidden by the situation to laugh,
and anger pent in by fear turns into tenfold hate. Expressing
either emotion freely, however, gives relief.

This objection is more specious than real. During the expres-
sion the emotion is always felt. After it, the centres having
normally discharged themselves, we feel it no more. But where
the facial part of the discharge is suppressed the thoracic and
visceral may be all the more violent and persistent, as in sup-
pressed laughter; or the original emotion may be changed, by
the combination of the provoking object with the restraining
pressure, into another emotion altogether, in which different and
possibly profounder organic disturbance occurs. If I would kill
my enemy but dare not, my emotion is surely altogether other
than that which would possess me if I let my anger explode. —
On the whole, therefore, this objection has no weight.

The Subtler Emotions. —In the esthetic emotions the
bodily reverberation and the feeling may both be faint. A con-
noisseur is apt to judge a work of art dryly and intellectually,
and with no bodily thrill. On the other hand, works of art may
arouse intense emotion; and whenever they do so, the experi-
ence is completely covered by the terms of our theory. Our
theory requires that incoming currents be the basis of emotion.
But, whether secondary organic reverberations be or be not
aroused by it, the perception of a work of art (music, decoration,

666 WILLIAM JAMES

etc.) is always in the first instance at any rate an affair of in-
coming currents. The work is an object of sensation; and, the
perception of an object of sensation being a “ coarse’ or vivid
experience, what pleasure goes with it will partake of the
‘coarse’ or vivid form.

That there may be subtle pleasure too, I do not deny. In
other words, there may be purely cerebral emotion, independ-
ent of all currents from outside. Such feelings as moral satisfac-
tion, thankfulness, curiosity, relief at getting a problem solved,
may be of this sort. But the thinness and paleness of these feel-
ings, when unmixed with bodily effects, is in very striking con-
trast to the coarser emotions. Inall sentimental and impression-
able people the bodily effects mix in: the voice breaks and the
eyes moisten when the moral truth is felt, etc. Wherever there
is anything like rapture, however intellectual its ground, we find
these secondary processes ensue. Unless we actually laugh at
the neatness of the demonstration or witticism; unless we thrill
at the case of justice, or tingle at the act of magnanimity, our
state of mind can hardly be called emotional at all. It is in fact
a mere intellectual perception of how certain things are to be
called — neat, right, witty, generous, and the like. Such a
judicial state of mind as this is to be classed among cognitive
rather than among emotional acts.

Description of Fear. — For the reasons given on p. 656, I will
append no inventory or classification of emotions or description
of their symptoms. The reader has practically almost all the
facts in his own hand. As an example, however, of the best
sort of descriptive work on the symptoms, I will quote Darwin’s
account of them in fear.

“* Fear is often preceded by astonishment, and is so far akin
to it that both lead to the senses of sight and hearing being
instantly aroused. In both cases the eyes and mouth are widely
opened and the eyebrows raised. The frightened man at first
stands like a statue, motionless and breathless, or crouches
down as if instinctively to escape observation. The heart beats
quickly and violently, so that it palpitates or knocks against
the ribs; but it is very doubtful if it then works more efficiently '

PSYCHOLOGY 667

than usual, so as to send a greater supply of blood to all parts of
the body; for the skin instantly becomes pale as during incipi-
ent faintness. This paleness of the surface, however, is pro-
bably in large part, or is exclusively, due to the vaso-motor
centre being affected in such manner as to cause the contrac-
tion of the small arteries of the skin. That the skin is much
affected under the sense of great fear, we see in the marvellous
manner in which perspiration immediately exudes from it.
This exudation is all the more remarkable, as the surface is
then cold, and hence the term, a cold sweat; whereas the
sudorific glands are properly excited into action when the sur-
face is heated. The hairs also on the skin stand erect, and the
superficial muscles shiver. In connection with the disturbed
action of the heart the breathing is hurried. The salivary
glands act imperfectly; the mouth becomes dry and is often _
opened and shut. I have also noticed that under slight fear
there is strong tendency to yawn. One of the best marked symp-
toms is the trembling of all the muscles of the body; and this is
often first seen in the lips. From this cause, and from the dry-
ness of the mouth, the voice becomes husky or indistinct or
may altogether fail. “Obstupui steteruntque come, et vox fauci-
bus hesit. . . . As fear increases into an agony of terror, we
behold, as under all violent emotions, diversified results. The
heart beats wildly or must fail to act and faintness ensue; there
is a death-like pallor; the breathing is labored; the wings of the
nostrils are widely dilated; there is a gasping and convulsive
motion of the lips, a tremor on the hollow cheek, a gulping and
catching of the throat; the uncovered and protruding eyeballs
are fixed on the object of terror; or they may roll restlessly from
side to side, huc illuc volens oculos totumque pererrat. The pupils
are said to be enormously dilated. All the muscles of the body
may become rigid or may be thrown into convulsive move-
ments. The hands are alternately clenched and opened, often
with a twitching movement. The arms may be protruded as if
to avert some dreadful danger, or may be thrown wildly over
the head. The Rev. Mr. Hagenauer has seen this latter action
in a terrified Australian. In other cases there is a sudden and

668 WILLIAM JAMES

uncontrollable tendency to headlong flight; and so strong is this
that the boldest soldiers may be seized with a sudden panic.” ?

Genesis of the Emotional Reactions. — How come the vari-
ous objects which excite emotion to produce such special and
different bodily effects? This question was not asked till quite
recently, but already some interesting suggestions towards
answering it have been made.

Some movemenis. of expression can be accounted for as
weakened repetitions of movements which formerly (when they
were stronger) were of utility te the subject. Others are similarly
weakened repetitions of movements which under other condi-
tions were physiologically necessary concomitants of the useful
movements. Of the latter reactions the respiratory disturbances
in anger and fear might be taken as examples — organic reminis-
cences, as it were, reverberations in imagination of the blowings
of the man making a series of combative efforts, of the pantings
of onein precipitate flight. Such at least is a suggestion made by
Mr. Spencer which has found approval. And he also was the
first, so far as I know, to suggest that other movements in
anger and fear could be explained by the nascent excitation of
formerly useful acts.

“To have ina slight degree,” he says, “‘ such psychical states
as accompany the reception of wounds, and are experienced
during flight, is to be in a state of what we call fear. And to
have in a slight degree such psychical states as the processes
of catching, killing, and eating imply, is to have the desires to
catch, kill, and eat. That the propensities to the acts are no-
thing else than nascent excitations of the psychical state in-
volved in the acts, is proved by the natural language of the
propensities. Fear, when strong, expresses itself in cries, in
efforts to escape, in palpitations, in tremblings; and these are
just the manifestations that go along with an actual suffering
of the evil feared. The destructive passion is shown in a gen-
eral tension of the muscular system, in gnashing of teeth and
protrusion of the claws, in dilated eyes and nostrils in growls;
and these are weaker forms of the actions that accompany the

1 Origin of the Emotions (N. Y. ed.), p. 292.

PSYCHOLOGY 669

killing of prey. To such objective evidences every one can add
subjective evidences. Every one can testify that the psychical
state called fear consists of mental representations of certain
painful results; and that the one called anger consists of mental
representations of the actions and impressions which would
occur while inflicting some kind of pain.”

The principle of revival, in weakened form, of reactions useful
in more violent dealings with the object inspiring the emotion, has
found many applications. So slight a symptom as the snarl or
sneer, the one-sided uncovering of the upper teeth, is ac-
counted for by Darwin as a survival from the time when our
ancestors had large canines, and unfleshed them (as dogs now
do) for attack. Similarly the raising of the eyebrows in outward
attention, the opening of the mouth in astonishment, come,
according to the same author, from the utility of these move-
ments in extreme cases. The raising of the eyebrows goes with
the opening of the eye for better vision; the opening of the
mouth with the intensest listening, and with the rapid catching
of the breath which precedes muscular effort. The distention
of the nostrils in anger is interpreted by Spencer as an echo of
the way in which our ancestors had to breathe when, during
combat, their “ mouth was filled up by a part of an antagonist’s
body that had been seized” (!). The trembling of fear is sup-
posed by Mantegazza to be for the sake of warming the blood (!)
The reddening of the face and neck is called by Wundt a com-
pensatory arrangement for relieving the brain of the blood-
pressure which the simultaneous excitement of the heart brings
with it. The effusion of tears is explained both by this author
and by Darwin to be a blood-withdrawing agency of a similar
sort. Thecontraction of the muscles around the eyes, of which
the primitive use is to protect those organs from being too much
gorged with blood during the screaming fits of infancy, survives
in adult life in the shape of the frown, which instantly comes
over the brow when anything difficult or displeasing presents
itself either to thought or action.

- “ As the habit of contracting the brows has been followed
by infants during innumerable generations, at the commence-

670 WILLIAM JAMES

ment of every crying or screaming fit,” says Darwin, ‘‘ it has
become firmly associated with the incipient sense of some-
thing distressing or disagreeable. Hence, under similar cir-
cumstances, it would be apt to be continued during maturity,
although never then developed, into a crying fit. Screaming
or weeping begins to be voluntarily restrained at an early
period of life, whereas frowning is hardly ever restrained at any
age.”

Another principle, to which Darwin perhaps hardly does
sufficient justice, may be called the principle of reacting
similarly to analogous-feeling stimuli. There is a whole voca-
bulary of descriptive adjectives common to impressions belong-
ing to different sensible spheres — experiences of all classes are
sweet, impressions of all classes rich or solid, sensations of all
classes sharp. Wundt and Piderit accordingly explain many of
our most expressive reactions upon moral causes as symbolic
gustatory movements. As soon as any experience arises which
has an affinity with the feeling of sweet, or bitter, or sour, the
same movements are executed which would result from the
taste in point. “ All the states of mind which language desig-
nates by the metaphors bitter, harsh, sweet, combine them-
selves, therefore, with the corresponding mimetic movements
of the mouth.” Certainly the emotions of disgust and satisfac-
tion do express themselves in this mimetic way. Disgust is an
incipent regurgitation or retching, limiting its expression often
to the grimace of the lips and nose; satisfaction goes with a suck-
ing smile, or tasting motion of the lips. The ordinary gesture of
negation — among us, moving the head about its axis from side
to side — is a reaction originally used by babies to keep disa-
greeables from getting into their mouth, and may be observed
in perfection in any nursery. It is now evoked where the stimu-
lus is only an unwelcome idea. Similarly the nod forward in
affirmation is after the analogy of taking food into the mouth.
The connection of the expression of moral or social disdain or
dislike, especially in women, with movements having a per-
fectly definite original olfactory function, is too obvious for

PSYCHOLOGY 671

comment. Winking is the effect of any threatening surprise, not
only of what puts the eyes in danger; and a momentary aver-
sion of the eyes is very apt to be one’s first symptom of response
to an unexpectedly unwelcome proposition. — These may suf-
fice as examples of movements expressive from analogy.

But if certain of our emotional reactions can be explained
by the two principles invoked — and the reader will himself
have felt how conjectural and fallible in some of the instances
the explanation is — there remain many reactions which can-
not so be explained at all, and these we must write down for the
present as purely idiopathic effects of the stimulus. Amongst
them are the effects on the viscera and internal glands, the dry-
ness of the mouth and diarrhoea and nausea of fear, the liver-
disturbances which sometimes produce jaundice after excessive
rage, the urinary secretion of sanguine excitement, and the
bladder-contraction of apprehension, the gaping of expectancy,
the ‘lump in the throat’ of grief, the tickling there and the
swallowing of embarrassment, the ‘ precordial anxiety’ of
dread, the changes in the pupil, the various sweatings of the
skin, cold or hot, local or general, and its flushings, together
with other symptoms which probably exist but are too hidden
to have been noticed or named. Trembling, which is found in
many excitements besides that of terror, is, pace Mr. Spencer
and Sig. Mantegazza, quite pathological. So are terror’s other
strong symptoms: they are harmful to the creature who pre-
sents them. In an organism as complex as the nervous system
there must be many incidental reactions which would never
themselves have been evolved independently, for any utility
they might possess. Sea-sickness, ticklishness, shyness, the love
of music, of the various intoxicants, nay, the entire esthetic
life of man, must be traced to this accidental origin. It would
be foolish to suppose that none of the reactions called emo-
tional could have arisen in this guasi-accidental way.

CARL GEORG LANGE
(1834-1900)
THE EMOTIONS

Translated from the German* of H. Kurella by
BENJAMIN RAND

THE MECHANISM OF THE EMOTIONS

WE approach now the question which possesses a vital in-
terest from the psycho-physiological standpoint, and for that
reason forms the centre of this investigation. The question
concerns the nature of the relation between the emotions and
their accompanying bodily expressions.

Heretofore I have constantly used phrases, though under
protest, such as “the physiological phenomena occasioned by
the emotions,” or ‘‘ the physiological phenomena which accom-
pany emotion,” etc. Ihave employed provisionally these cus-
tomary expressions for the relation in question in order to be
understood. Strangely enough up to the present time this
relation never has been in any way accurately defined. I know
of no attempt to determine its exact nature. The matter is very
simple in the popular conception. Here emotions are entities,
substances, forces, daemons, which seize man and produce in
him bodily as well as mental manifestations: “ grief seized
me,” ‘‘a joy came tome,” ‘‘ anger controlled me,” “‘ fear over-
whelmed me,”’ etc.

As often happens in popular and sometimes even in scientific
psychology, this conception has rather a metaphorical than an
explicative value. Modern psychology would scarcely adopt it,
' * C. Lange Om Sindsbevaegelser. Kjébenhavn, 1885. Translated here

from C. Lange’s Ueber Gemitithsbewegungen. Eine psycho-physiologische Studie.
Uebersetzt von H. Kurella, Leipzig, 1887.

THE EMOTIONS 673.

if it could offer in its place any more comprehensible or exact
explanation. Most modern authors in the domain of scientific
psychology do not enter! at all into this question. They ap-
pear almost deliberately to pass it over in silence, in order pro-
bably from the lack of a physiological explanation not to have
recourse to the mysterious language of speculative psychology.
Indeed one can say that scientific psychology also shares the
theory, that the emotions induce and determine the accom-
panying bodily expressions. But as to what emotions strictly
are, that they can have such power over the body, one seeks,
I think, in vain for any explanation in the whole of modern
psychology.

If we desire a clear understanding of the relation here dis-
cussed, we must, as it appears to me, formulate the problem
approximately in the following way. We have in every emo-
tion as certain and manifest factors: (1) a cause, —a sense
impression, which acts as a rule by the aid of memory, or of an
associated idea; —— and thereafter (2) an effect, namely, the
previously discussed vasomotor changes, and further, issuing
from them, the changes in the bodily and mental functions.

The question now arises:

What lies between these two factors? Is there anything at
all? If I begin to tremble because I am threatened with a
loaded pistol, does first a psychical process occur in me, does
terror arise, and is that what causes my trembling, palpita-
tion of the heart, and confusion of thought; or are these bodily
phenomena produced directly by the terrifying cause, so that
the emotion consists exclusively of the functional disturbances
in my body?

The answer to this question is, as one easily perceives, not
merely of decisive significance for the psychology of the emo-
tions; but also of the greatest practical significance for any
physician, who has to do with the pathological results of vio-
lent emotions.

The current opinion, as already remarked, amounts to the

1 Theexternal movement springs always from the inner, the emotion. Wundt’s
Ueber den Ausdruck der Gemiithsbewegungen. Deutsche Rundschau, April, 1877.

674. CARL GEORG LANGE

statement, that the immediate effect of a process followed by
an emotion is of a purely psychical nature, (therefore, either
the creation of a new mental force, or the modification of a pre-
vious mental state). Furthermore, it affirms, that this event in
the soul is the actual emotion, the true joy, sorrow, etc.; whereas
the bodily phenomena are only subsidiary phenomena, which
indeed are never lacking, but are nevertheless in and of them-
selves wholly unessential.

The purely psychical emotion is anhypothesis, and likeevery
hypothesis, has its justification only if it fulfils two conditions:
namely, (1) to explain the phenomena for which it is pro-
pounded, and (2) that it be necessary for the explanation of
these phenomena.

Respecting the first of these conditions, the hypothesis in
question has just as easy a task as all the metaphysical hy-
potheses in general have. Without being restricted by objec-
tions of experience, one can elaborate them at pleasure, attribut-
ing to them any quality or power, and without further difficulty
they perform every service that is required of them. But can
psychical terror explain why one grows pale, or why one trem-
bles? Although we do not understand the explanation, we are
still free to assume it, and we are accustomed to be therewith
content.

If the hypothesis of the psychical nature of the emotions is
accordingly unassailable at this point, (indeed more because it
escapes, than because it stands criticism,) the question arises,
whether it fulfils the second condition? Isit indispensable for
the explanation of the group of phenomena which we call emo-
tions? Can these phenomena be understood without its aid?

Whoever would make clear to some one who has grown up
with the common idea upon this subject, that if he is frightened
his terror is only a perception of change in his body, would prob-
ably encounter the following objection: “ Any such assump-
tion of this relation is decisively contradicted by personal expe-
rience, since we have in terror, as in every emotion, a perfectly
distinct sensation of a peculiar change, or of a definite, psychical
state, wholly independent of anything bodily.”

THE EMOTIONS 675

I can readily understand, that this objection has very great
significance for the majority, and is difficult to overcome.
Nevertheless it has of course in and of itself not the least value.

We havein factno absolute and immediate means of determin-
ing whether a sensation is of a psychical or bodily character.
Furthermore, no one is able to indicate the difference between
psychical and somatic feelings. Whoever speaks of a psychical
impression does so indeed solely upon the basis of a theory,
and not upon an immediate perception. Without doubt, the
mother who sorrows over her dead child would resist, pro-
bably even become indignant, if anyone were to say to her,
that what she feels, is the exhaustion and inertness of her
muscles, the numbness in her bloodless skin, the lack of mental
power for clear and rapid thought !— all of which is made clear
by the idea of the cause of these phenomena. There is no reason,
however, for her to be indignant, for her feeling is just as strong,
as deep and pure, whether it springs from the one, or the other
source. But it cannot exist without its bodily attributes.

If from one terrified the accompanying bodily symptoms are
removed, the pulse permitted to beat quietly, the glance to
become firm, the color natural, the movements rapid and
secure, the speech strong, the thoughts clear, — what is there
left of his terror?

If we cannot rely, therefore, in this question upon the testi-
mony of personal experience, because it is here incompetent,
the matter is thereby naturally not yet explained. If the
hypothesis of psychical emotions be not made necessary by
subjective experience, it may nevertheless be requisite if with-
out it one cannot perhaps understand how the bodily man-
ifestations of the emotions come into existence.

We have consequently first to investigate, whether the bodily
manifestations of the emotions can come into existence in

1 J will not be deterred by the fact that it will probably be objected that one
can feel pure psychical grief, joy, etc. if the emotion is not strong enough to
lead to bodily symptoms. Such a supposition naturally rests only upon insuffi-
cient observation, or because one regards purely subjective sensations — those
of lightness or pressure, of strength or weakness — as psychical.

676 CARL GEORG LANGE

purely bodily ways. If that is the case, the eee of the
psychical hypothesis is thereby removed.

In fact, it is not difficult to show from every day experience,
which establishes and constantly verifies the truth, that emo-
tions can be produced by many causes, which have nothing to
do with movements of the mind; as on the other hand, that they
can equally as well be checked and subdued by purely bodily
means. It is known, though without clear consciousness of the
true relation of things, that our entire mode of existence, our
daily dietetics, has been formed during the course of genera-
tions essentially with the aim to promote the agreeable emo-
tions, and to lessen or entirely to remove the painful. I will
merely cite a single example, and that will serve to recall others.
It is one of the oldest experiences of mankind “‘that winemaketh
glad the heart of man; ” and the power of spirituous beverages
to combat the closely related states of grief and fear, and to
replace them with joy and courage, has found an application,
which is in and for itself natural enough, and would be uncondi-
tionally beneficial if the means did not possess in addition still
other effects.

We all understand why Jeppe ! drinks. It is because he will
escape thereby from his conjugal troubles, and his fear of the
master Erich. He will sing again, and recall the happy time
when he was “in the militia.”” The glass makes him jovial and
courageous, without the addition of a single pleasing or enliv-
ening impression which could have any direct effect upon his
mind, and without in the least forgetting his troubles or his
enemies. All he wants is the influence of wine to view them in
a manner different from the customary. He desires to impress
his importance upon the sexton, and for once to chastise his wife.
The alcohol has excited his vasomotor apparatus, has caused
his heart to beat more rapidly and strongly, has enlarged his
capillary ducts and thereby heightened his voluntary innerva-
tions, and as a consequence, he talks loudly, sings, and blusters,
instead of lingering about, whimpering, and whining on the
public way. He has the feeling of warmth, airiness, and

1 Jeppe am Berge, a character in the classical comedy of Holberg.

THE EMOTIONS 677

strength, in place of his customary limpness and incapacity.
His dull brain awakes again to new life by the quick circulation
of blood, the thoughts come in a rush, old memories revive and
displace the wonted feeling of his daily misery. And all this
is due merely to a “peg” of spirits, the effect of which upon the
circulation we can understand, and which has no need of the
intervention of the mind to act upon the vasomotor centre.

All those who drink spirits have an experience of a similar
nature to Jeppe’s, and thus we have it in general among the
means of enjoyment, in addition to the many arrangements
that we make to procure for ourselves comfort and well being.
So long as we remain within the easy and customary routine of
daily life, the connection between our emotional states and
material influences, (e.g., nutrition), naturally comes only rarely
into the foreground. The relation is otherwise in the enjoy-
ment of certain substances, which act upon the body so power-
fully that they are employed like drugs, or are ranked under
the category of poisons. Thus it is known that the eating of
certain fungi, especially the fly agaric, can produce the most
violent paroxysms of fury, and of violence. It has been conjec-
tured that our warlike ancestors used such means to create the
right mood for martial enterprises; therefore entirely similar to
the way, in which one to-day drinks spirits to “revive cour-
age.’ Fits of temper also often follow the partaking of hashish
(indian hemp), which, ordinarily however like alcohol and
opium, evokes a vivacious disposition, even outbursts of
unbounded merriment.

Certain emetics, as ipecacuanha and tartar emetic, produce
a feeling of depression, which oftentimes resembles fear, some-
times also grief, and like these emotions is accompanied by
symptoms of collapse.

If emotional states can be precipitated by the enjoyment of
certain substances, or in other purely bodily ways, it follows
that one can combat and abate painful emotions in the same
way. If spirits or opium produce joy, they are an antidote
for sorrow.

The power of cold water to subdue temper and outbreaks of

678 CARL GEORG LANGE

passion finds occasionally a practical use, and can, when ap-
plied to the body, scarcely act directly upon the mind; but so
much the more does it act upon the vasomotor functions. By
the agency of a medicine, the well-known bromide of potas-
sium, which causes paralysis of the vasomotor apparatus, we
have it in our power not only to allay fear and anxiety, and
similar uncomfortable emotions, but also, if we wish, to cause a
perfectly apathetic condition, in which the individual is even
as little able to become festive or sad, as anxious and angry,
simply because the vasomotor functions are suspended.

If the theory of the nature of the emotions here advocated,
is well founded, we may in a general way expect that every
action connected with functional changes of the vasomotor
system must also have an emotional expression. Naturally we
should not expect that emotions originated in this way would
conform in every way with the phenomenon for which we com-
monly reserve this designation; the differences in the causes na-
turally must find expression in this domain through differences
in the effects. The different psychical causes have also in reality
effects which are not at all congruous. The fear of ghosts is not
imagined in the same form as fear of the bullets of an enemy.
Nevertheless, the similarity in many cases between the bodily
and the psychically conditioned emotions has been sufficiently
striking to force itself upon immediate apprehension, as the
many linguistic designations clearly prove. Thus in all languages
there is one and the same expression for mental and bodily
pain. We have recognized their great physiological similarity,
although the marked phenomenon of bodily pain, namely the
subjective sensation in consequence of the transmission of the
peripheral stimulus to the sensorium, is lacking in the case of
mental pain. The cause of similarity of the physical to the
emotional pain is the reflex innervation of the vascular nerves, a
normal effect of every rather strong stimulation of the sensitive
nerves.

The term shudder, in this way, is the common designation in
speech for the phenomena arising from the sudden effects of
cold upon the skin, and also from terrifying impressions. That

THE EMOTIONS 679

the naive intelligence recognizes no distinction between the
shuddering due to emotional, and that due to purely bodily
causes, we perceive in the fairy tale of the youth, who went
forth in order to find out what shuddering was, and who after
seeking in vain to discover it in the company of the dead and of
ghosts, had his wish fulfilled when he was thrown from his bed
into a tub of ice cold water, which produced a more painful
effect upon his vasomotor apparatus than the sight of corpses,
and of ghosts.

The designation feverish for the man who is very impatient,
likewise shows, that we have been impressed by the similarity
which exists between the light symptoms of fever with their
vasomotor disturbances, and those bodily conditions which
are produced by disquieting expectations.

As already remarked, I shall not enter in this small treatise
more minutely into the large question concerning the relation
of the emotions with the corresponding pathological states, or
with mental and bodily diseases.

But there exists in this connection a relation which I cannot
pass entirely by, because it throws much light upon the question
with which we are here occupied, that is, the necessity of the
hypothesis of purely psychical emotions. If there is anything
that in a striking way can prove the superfluous nature of this
hypothesis, it is certainly the circumstance that the emotions
arise without being evoked by any external impression, or by
any occurrence which acts upon our mental life,or by any mem-
ory or association of ideas; and that they originate in optima
forma solely upon the basis of the pathological conditions, which
are developed in our bodies, or are inherited from parents.

If we set out from the theory here advocated this cannot be
astonishing; for the vasomotor apparatus can of course upon
occasion become diseased as readily as any other portion of the
nervous system, so that it functions in an abnormal manner, or
cannot function at all. We may even regard it as especially
exposed to the danger of functioning in a pathological manner,
because it is that part of the nervous system which has least
rest and is most frequently liable to functional disturbances.

680 CARL GEORG LANGE

Where this happens in an individual, he becomes according
to circumstances, depressed or distracted, anxious or unre-
strainedly merry, embarrassed, etc. Everything is without
apparent motive, and even though he is conscious of having no
reason whatever for his anger, his fear, or his joy. Whereis there
any support here for the hypothesis of psychical emotion?
Such cases are extraordinarily frequent. Every alienist
knows the sharply developed forms which appear as melan-
cholia or mania; every physician who occupies himself at all
thoroughly with nervous diseases has ample opportunity to ob-
serve the even more instructive light forms on the borderland
between the real diseases of the mind and mere depressions,
such as are included under the ordinary names of irritability,
oddity, and dejection. Very frequently we find the dejection,
the imaginary grief, or even despair, which often results in sui-
cide, combined with clear consciousness of the entire absence
of a single psychical motive for grief. Not much less frequent is
the pathological anxiety, which often accompanies that related
emotion of grief, but often enough is found alone. It goes with-
out saying, that joy appears more rarely in actual pathological
manifestations. The mere circumstance that a joy appears
without motive will naturally, at least among the laity, seldom
suffice to cause it to be regarded as pathological, and still less to
cause medical treatment to be sought for the cure of this state.
For such action it will be commonly necessary, that either the
joy manifest itself in an entirely unrestrained and immoderate
manner in the form of a more or less pronounced mania, or that
it alternate in a striking fashion with periods of dejection, and
thus attract attention as something unnatural. The same holds
true of anger. We are in fact accustomed, as regards this emo-
tion, to put up with a good deal without surmising it to be any-
thing pathological, and as a rule we are not exacting as to its
cause. But everything indeed has its limits, and there are
outbreaks of anger often enough so groundless and unre-
strained, that all will agree in recognizing them as manifesta-
tions of a pathological state.
.. There exists probably for those who have no medical training

THE EMOTIONS 681

scarcely anything that can be more clarifying with reference to
the diseased states of the mind here discussed, than the observ-
ation of such a pathological paroxysm of temper. Especially
is this true, if it appears wholly uncomplicated by other psychi-
cal disturbances, as is the case in the formof illness which goes
by the name of “ transitory mania,” and is indeed of rare occur-
rence. The attack comes often without the least apparent cause
to an otherwise entirely sane person, if disposed thereto; and
throws him — to use the language of a recent writer? upon this
disease — into a state of wild paroxysm of rage, accompanied
by a terrible and blindly furious impulse to injure and to
destroy. The patient suddenly assails everything, strikes,
kicks, and strangles whomsoever he can seize, throws every-
thing about him that he can lay hands upon, breaks to pieces
whatever comes near him, rends his clothes, screams, howls
and roars with glaring rolling eyes, and thereby exhibits all
the symptoms of vasomotor congestion which we have come to
recognize as the accompaniment of madness. The face is
flushed and swollen, the cheeks are hot, the eyes are bulging,
their conjunctiva are filled with blood, the beating of the heart
is increased, and the pulse reaches 100-120 strokes a minute.
The neck arteries swell and throb, the veins are distended, the
saliva flows. The fit lasts only a few hours, ends suddenly in
a sleep of eight to ten hours duration, and upon waking the
patient has entirely forgotten what has happened.

The pathological emotions here mentioned, which originate
as stated from abnormal bodily conditions, can appear also as
the results of other diseases, or proceed from digestive de-
rangements. They are on that account influenced also by the-
rapeutic methods, and can be alleviated or cured. The transit-
ory mania above described, which has so evidently its cause in
a sudden congestion of the brain, can, according to the author
cited, be checked oftentimes by a bandage of ice upon the head.

I foresee here an objection which I shall not pass unnoticed
in spite of its logical weakness. Undoubtedly many will say, in
harmony with common usage, that the states which are occa-

1 ©. Schwartz, Die transitorische Tobsucht, Wien, 1880.

682 CARL GEORG LANGE

sioned by purely bodily influences or by diseased bodily condi-
tions, can indeed be similar to the emotions, but they are not
emotions. For example, the delirium that the fly agaric occa-
sions, or that appears in mania, presents indeed the picture of
rage, but is not ‘actual’ rage, any more than the happiness
which comes from drinking wine is “real” happiness. One
cannot for that reason conclude from the absence of moral
wrath in the person poisoned by fly agaric or possessed of a
mania, that there does not exist at all any such purely psychi-
cal state, provided the wrath is brought about in the ordinary
way by a moral impression.

It is easy to see that any such division of emotions into real
and apparent, or any such limitation of the domain of real emo-
tions is entirely arbitrary, and based upon a petitio principii.
The reason of the claim to an exceptional position for the emo-
tions of intellectual origin, as if they were the only real ones, is
purely and solely the belief, that they are due to the activity of
the mind. But that is precisely the question under discussion.

In reality the difference between the passion of the warrior
frenzied by the fly agaric, or of the maniac, and of one who has
suffered a mortal offence, exists only in the difference and in the
consciousness of the respective causes, or in the absence of the
consciousness of any cause. If one desires upon this basis to es-
tablish a distinction, there is naturally no objection to be made,
provided only one is clear wherein the difference consists.

Moreover it is not so easy, as it probably appears, to draw a
sharp line of distinction between material and psychical causes
of emotion; if we seek to analyse their physiological difference,
it resolves itself into something physiologically quite irrelevant,
and slips from our grasp.

No one has ever thought of distinguishing a true emotion
from one produced by an uncommonly loud noise. No one hesi-
tates to regard it as a sort of fright; and in fact it shows all the
usual characteristics of fright. And yet it is by no means united
with the idea of danger, or in any way occasioned by an associa-
tion of ideas, a memory, or any intellectual process whatever.
The phenomena of fright follow the noise immediately without

THE EMOTIONS 683

a trace of “mental” fear. Merely because of the noise of the
report, many persons can never become accustomed to stand
beside a cannon when it is discharged, although they know per-
fectly well there is no danger, either for themselves or for others.
The case, moreover, of the infant can be cited, which exhibits
all the symptoms of fear whenever it hears a loud noise, and
yet we cannot reasonably assume that the sound excited in the
child any idea of danger. In this case, we must assume that if
the vasomotor reflexes are not directly caused by the acoustic
nerves, they are at least by the direct action of the acoustic cen-
tres, and we have therefore an emotion of purely material
origin.! We must therefore either exclude this fear from the
true emotions, or we cannot strictly maintain the distinction
between the mentally and the bodily conditioned emotions.

We are placed in the same dilemma by the emotions, as a
rule certainly less intensive but nevertheless sufficiently dis-
tinct, which are produced by the simple impressions of the
other sense organs, and are not united with any kind of associa-
tion. Such are, for example, the pleasure from a charming
color or combination of colors, the repugnance towards a dis-
agreeable taste or odor, or the discomfort from a pain.

If one has only once begun to feel uncertain about the estab-
lishment of a line of demarcation between the mental and bod-
ily causes of emotions, there arises a strong impulse to investi-
gate what physiological significance can be attributed to their
difference. One seeks then what difference exists in the cerebral
mechanism of the emotions, according as they are determined
by a so-called mental cause, or by one purely material.

To-day with our still very imperfect knowledge of cerebral
physiology, it is certainly not very tempting to make an at-
tempt at an explanation of what takes place in the brain as the
result of mental work. Naturally, we can only sketch some
fundamental outlines very roughly, and, in truth, with every

1 That we here deal with a simple reflex, immediately produced in the motor
nerves, as Preyer appears to suppose (Die Seele des Kindes, 2te Aufl. p. 51) is
not probable; partly because these motor phenomena have not in general the

character of reflex movement excited by a sudden impression, and partly be-
cause the effects in question are not confined to motor phenomena.

684 CARL GEORG LANGE

possible reserve with reference to the accuracy of the results.
Nevertheless, in psychological investigations it is not only just-
ifiable, but is also correct and useful to examine how closely we
can approach a solution with our present physiological know-
ledge. At all events we can take courage from the fact, that we
know the relations here discussed — in their chief characteris-
tics at least — are of their kind almost the simplest, and the
easiest to fathom.*

* “The only point,” says Th. Ribot in his The Psychology of the Emotions, “in
which I differ from these authors [James and Lange] relates to their way of
putting the proposition, not to its substance.

“Tt is evident that our two authors,whether consciously or not, share the dualist
point of view with the common opinion which they are combating; the only differ-
ence being in the interversion of cause and effect. Emotion is a cause of which
the physical manifestations are the effect, says one party; the physical manifesta-
tions are the cause of which emotion is the effect, says the other. In my view,
there would be a great advantage in eliminating from the question every notion
of cause and effect, every relation of causality, and in substituting for the dual-
istic position a unitary or monistic one. The Aristotelian formula of matter and
form seems to me to meet the case better, if we understand by ‘matter’ the
corporeal facts, and by ‘form’ the corresponding psychical state: the two terms,
by-the-bye, only existing in connection with each other and being inseparable ex-
cept as abstract conceptions. It was traditional in ancient psychology to study
the relations of ‘the soul and the body’ — the new psychology does not speak of
them. In fact, if the question takes a metaphysical form, it is no longer psychol-
ogy; if it takes an experimental form, there is no reason to treat it separately,
because it is treated in connection witheverything. No state of consciousness can
be dissociated from its physical conditions: they constitute a natural whole, which
must be studied as such. Every kind of emotion ought to be considered in this
way: all that is objectively expressed by the movements of the face and body, by
vasomotor, respiratory, and secretory disturbances, is expressed subjectively by
correlative states of consciousness, classed by external observation according to
their qualities. It is a single occurrence expressed in two languages. We have
previously assimilated the emotions to psycho-physiological organisms; this
unitary point of view, being more conformable to the nature of things and to the
present tendencies of psychology, seems to me, in practice, to eliminate many
objections and difficulties. Whether we adopt this theory or not, we have in
any case acquired the certainty that the organic and motor manifestations
are not accessories, that the study of them is part of the study of emotion.”
Pp. 111-112.

WILHELM WUNDT
ES erases

PRINCIPLES OF PHYSIOLOGICAL
PSYCHOLOGY

Translated from the German * by
EDWARD BRADFORD TITCHENER

INTRODUCTION

§ 1. THE PROBLEM OF PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY

THE title of the present work is in itself a sufficiently clear
indication of the contents. In it, the attempt is made to show
the connexion between two sciences whose subject-matters are
closely interrelated, but which have, for the most part, followed
wholly divergent paths. Physiology and psychology cover, be-
tween them, the field of vital phenomena; they deal with the
facts of life at large, and in particular with the facts of human
life. Physiology is concerned with all those phenomena of life
that present themselves to us in sense perception as bodily
processes, and accordingly, form part of that total environment
which we name the external world. Psychology, on the other
hand, seeks to give account of the interconnexion of processes
which are evinced by our own consciousness, or which we infer
from such manifestations of the bodily life in other creatures as
indicate the presence of a consciousness similar to our own.

This division of vital processes into physical and psychical
is useful and even necessary for the solution of scientific prob-
lems. We must, however, remember that the life of an organ-

* From Grundziige der physiologischen Psychologie, 2 Bde. Leipzig, 1873-74; 5
umgearb. Aufl. 3 Bde. 1902. Reprinted here from W.Wundt’s Principles of Physi-
ological Psychology, translated by E. B. Titchener, New York, The Macmillan
Co. 1904.

686 WILHELM WUNDT

ism is really one; complex, it is true, but still unitary. We can,
therefore, no more separate the processes of bodily life from
conscious processes than we can mark off an outer experience,
mediated by sense perceptions, and oppose it, as something
wholly separate and apart, to what we call ‘inner’ experience,
the events of our own consciousness. On the contrary: just as
one and the same thing, e.g., a tree that I perceive before me,
falls as external object within the scope of natural science, and
as conscious contents within that of psychology, so there are
many phenomena of the physical life that are uniformly con-
nected with conscious processes, while these in turn are always
bound up with processes in the living body. It is a matter of
every-day experience that we refer certain bodily movements
directly to volitions, which we can observe as such only in our
consciousness. Conversely, we refer the ideas of external objects
that arise in consciousness either to direct affection of the organs
of sense, or, in the case of memory images, to physiological ex-
citations within the sensory centres, which we interpret as
after-effects of foregone sense impressions.

It follows then, that physiology and psychology have many
points of contact. In general, there can of course be no doubt
that their problems are distinct. But psychology is called upon
to trace out the relations that obtain between conscious pro-
cesses and certain phenomena of the physical life; and physi-
ology, on its side, cannot afford to neglect the conscious con-
tents in which certain phenomena of this bodily life manifest
themselves to us. Indeed, as regards physiology, the interde-
pendence of the two sciences is plainly in evidence. Practically
everything that the physiologists tell us, by way of fact or of
hypothesis, concerning the processes in the organs of sense and
in the brain, is based upon determinate mental symptoms: so
that psychology has long been recognised, explicitly or im-
plicitly, as an indispensable auxiliary of physiological investi-
gation. Psychologists, it is true, have been apt to take a dif-
ferent attitude towards physiology. They have tended to regard
as superfluous any reference to the physical organism; they
have supposed that nothing more is required for a science of

PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY 687

mind than the direct apprehension of conscious processes
themselves. It is in token of dissent from any such standpoint
that the present work is entitled a “ physiological psychology.”
We take issue, upon this matter, with every treatment of psy-
chology that is based on simple self-observation or on philo-
sophical presuppositions. We shall, whenever the occasion seems
to demand, employ physiology in the service of psychology. We
are thus, as was indicated above, following the example of
physiology itself, which has never been in a position to disre-
gard facts that properly belong to psychology, — although it
has often been hampered in its use of them by the defects of
the empirical or metaphysical psychology which it has found
current.

Physiological psychology is, therefore, first of all psychology.
It has in view the same principal object upon which all other
forms of psychological exposition are directed: the investigation
of conscious processes in the modes of connexion peculiar to them.
It is not a province of physiology; nor does it attempt, as has
been mistakenly asserted, to derive or explain the phenomena
of the psychical from those of the physical life. We may read
this meaning into the phrase “physiological psychology,’ just
as we might interpret the title “microscopical anatomy’ to
mean a discussion, with illustrations from anatomy, of what
has been accomplished by the microscope; but the words should.
be no more misleading in the one case than they are in the other.
As employed in the present work, the adjective ‘ physiological’
implies simply that our psychology will avail itself to the full
of the means that modern physiology puts at its disposal for
the analysis of conscious processes. It will do this in two ways.

(x) Psychological inquiries have, up to the most recent times,
been undertaken solely in theinterest of philosophy; physiology
was enabled, by the character of its problems, to advance more
quickly towards the application of exact experimental methods.
Since, however, the experimental modification of the processes
of life, as practised by physiology, oftentimes effects a concomi-
tant change, direct or indirect, in the processes of consciousness,
— which, as we have seen, form part of vital processes at large,

688 WILHELM WUNDT

— it is-clear that physiology is, in the very nature of the case,
qualified to assist psychology on the side of method; thus ren-
dering the same help to psychology that it itself received from
physics. In so far as physiological psychology receives assistance
from physiology in the elaboration of experimental methods,
it may be termed experimental psychology. This name suggests,
what should not be forgotten that psychology, in adopting the
experimental methods of physiology, does not by any means
take them over as they are, and apply them without change to
anew material. The methods of experimental psychology have
been transformed — in some instances, actually remodelled —
by psychology itself, to meet the specific requirements of psy-
chological investigation. Psychology has adapted physiologi-
cal, as physiology adapted psychical methods, to its own ends.

(2) An adequate definition of life, taken in the wider sense,
must (as we said just now) cover both the vital processes of
the physical organism and the processes of consciousness.
Hence, wherever we meet with vital phenomena that present
the two aspects, physical and psychical, there naturally arises
a question as to the relations in which these aspects stand
to each other. So we come face to face with a whole series of
special problems, which may be occasionally touched upon by
physiology or psychology, but which cannot receive their final
solution at the hands of either, just by reason of that division
of labour to which both sciences alike stand committed. Experi-
mental psychology is no better able to cope with them than is
any other form of psychology, seeing that it differs from its
rivals only in method, and not in aim or purpose. Physiologi-
cal psychology, on the other hand, is competent to investigate
the relations that hold between the processes of the physical and
those of the mental life. And in so far as it accepts this second
problem, we may name it a psychophysics. If we free this term
from any sort of metaphysical implication as to the relation of
mind and body, and understand by it nothing more than an
investigation of the relations that may be shown empirically
to obtain between the psychical and the physical aspects of
vital processes, it is clear at once that psychophysics becomes

PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY 689

for us not, what it is sometimes taken to be, a science interme-
diate between physiology and psychology, but rather a science
that is auxiliary toboth. It must, however, render service more
especially to psychology, since the relations existing between
determinate conditions of the physical organisation, on the
one hand, and the processes of consciousness, on the other,
are primarily of interest to the psychologist. In its final purpose,
therefore, this psychophysical problem that we have assigned
to physiological psychology proves to be itself psychological.
In execution, it will be predominantly physiological, since psy-
chophysics is concerned to follow up the anatomical and physi-
ological investigation of the bodily substrates of conscious
processes, and to subject its results to critical examination with
a view to their bearing upon our psychical life.

There are thus two problems which are suggested by the
title ‘‘ physiological psychology”: the problem of method, which
involves the application of experiment, and the problem of a
psychophysical supplement, which involves a knowledge of the
bodily substrates of the mental life. For psychology itself, the
former is the more essential; the second is of importance mainly
for the philosophical question of the unitariness of vital pro-
cesses at large. As an experimental science, physiological
psychology seeks to accomplish a reform in psychological in-
vestigation comparable with the revolution brought about in
the natural sciences by the introduction of the experimental
method. From one point of view, indeed, the change wrought
is still more radical: for while in natural science it is possible,
under favorable conditions, to make an accurate observation
without recourse to experiment, there is no such possibility
in psychology. It is only with grave reservations that what is
called ‘ pure self-observation’ can properly be termed observa-
tion at all, and under no circumstances can it lay claim to ac-
‘curacy. On the other hand, it is of the essence of experiment that
wecan vary the conditions of anoccurrence at will and, if we are
aiming at exact results, in a quantitatively determinable way.
Hence, even in the domain of natural science, the aid of the ex-
perimental method becomes indispensable whenever the prob-

690 WILHELM WUNDT

lem setis the analysis of transient and impermanent phenom-
ena, and not merely the observation of persistent and relatively
constant objects. But conscious,contents are at the opposite
pole from permanent objects; they are processes, fleeting occur-
rences, in continual fluxand change. In their case, therefore, the
experimental method is of cardinal importance; it and it alone
makes a scientific introspection possible. For all accurate obser-
vation implies that the object of observation. (in this case the
psychical process) can be held fast by the attention, and any
changes that it undergoes attentively followed. And this fixa-
tion by the attention implies, in its turn, that the observed ob-
ject is independent of the observer. Nowit is obvious that the
required independence does not obtain in any attempt at a direct
self-observation, undertaken without the help of experiment.
The endeavour to observe oneself must inevitably introduce
changes into the course of mental events, — changes which
could not have occurred without it, and whose usual conse-
quence is that the very process which was to have been ob-
served disappears from consciousness. The psychological ex-
periment proceeds very differently. In the first place, it creates
external conditions that look towards the production of a de-
terminate mental process at a given moment. In the second
place, it makes the observer so far master of the general situa-
tion, that the state of consciousness accompanying this process
remains approximately unchanged. The great importance of
the experimental method, therefore, lies not simply in the fact
that, here as in the physical realm, it enables us arbitrarily
to vary the conditions of our observations, but also and essen-
tially in the further fact that it makes observation itself pos-
sible for us. The results of this observation may then be fruit-
fully employed in the examination of other mental phenomena,
whose nature prevents their own direct experimental modifica-
tion.

We may add that, fortunately for the science, there are other
sources of objective psychological knowledge, which become
accessible at the very point where the experimental method
fails us. These are certain products of the common mental

PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY 691

life, in which we may trace the operation of determinate psy-
chical motives: chief among them are language, myth and cus-
tom. In part determined by historical conditions, they are also,
in part, dependent upon universal psychological laws; and the
phenomena that are referable to these laws form the subject-
matter of a special psychological discipline, ethnic psychology.
The results of ethnic psychology constitute, at the same time,
our chief source of information regarding the general psychology
of the complex mental processes. In this way, experimental
psychology and ethnic psychology form the two principal de-
partments of scientific psychology at large. They are supple-
mented by child and animal psychology, which in conjunction
with ethnic psychology attempt to resolve the problems of psy-
chogenesis. Workers in both these fields may, of course, avail
themselves within certain limits of the advantages of the ex-
perimental method. But the results of experiment are here mat-
ters of objective observation only, and the experimental method
accordingly loses the peculiar significance which it possesses
as an instrument of introspection. Finally, child psychology
and experimental psychology in the narrower sense may be
bracketed together as individual psychology, while animal
psychology and ethnic psychology form the two halves of a
generic or comparative psychology. These distinctions within
psychology are, however, by no means to be put on a level
with the analogous divisions of the province of physiology.
Child psychology and animal psychology are of relatively slight
importance, as compared with the sciences which deal with the
corresponding physiological problems of ontogeny and phylo-
geny. On the other hand, ethnic psychology must always
come to the assistance of individual psychology, when the de-
velopmental forms of the complex mental processes are in
question.

§ 3. PREPSYCHOLOGICAL CONCEPTS
The human mind is so constituted, that it cannot gather

experiences without at the same time supplying an admixture
of its own speculation. The first result of this naive reflection

692 WILHELM WUNDT

is the system of concepts which language embodies. Hence,
in all departments of human experience, there are certain con-
cepts that science finds ready made, before it proceeds upon its
own proper business, — results of that primitive reflection
which has left its permanent record in the concept-system of
language. ‘Heat’ and ‘light,’ e.g., are concepts from the world
of external experience, which had their immediate origin in
sense perception. Modern physics subsumes them both under
the general concept of motion. But it would not be able to do
this, if the physicist had not been willing provisionally to ac-
cept the concepts of the common consciousness, and to begin
his inquiries with their investigation. ‘Mind,’ ‘intellect,’ ‘rea-
son,’ ‘ understanding,’ etc., are concepts of just the same kind,
concepts that existed before the advent of any scientific psychol-
ogy. The fact that the naive consciousness always and every-
where points to internal experience as a special source of know-
ledge, may, therefore, be accepted for the moment as sufficient
testimony to the rights of psychology as science. And this ac-
ceptance implies the adoption of the concept of ‘mind,’ to cover
the whole field of internal experience. ‘ Mind,’ will accordingly
be the subject, to which we attribute all the separate facts of
internal observation as predicates. The subject itself is deter-
mined wholly and exclusively by its predicates; and the refer-
ence of these to a common substrate must be taken as nothing
more than an expression of their reciprocal connexion. In say-
ing this, we are declining once and for all to read into the con-
cept of ‘mind’ a meaning that the naive linguistic consciousness
always attaches to it. Mind, in popular thought, is not simply
a subject in the logical sense, but a substance, a real being; and
the various ‘activities of mind,’ as they are termed, are its
modes of expression or action. But there is here involved a
metaphysical presupposition, which psychology may possibly
be led to honour at the conclusion of her work, but which she
cannot on any account accept, untested, before ske has entered
upon it. Moreover, it is not true of this assumption as it was of
the discrimination of internal experience at large, that it is
necessary for the starting of the investigation. The words

PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY — 693

coined by language to symbolise certain groups of experiences
still bear upon them marks which show that, in their primitive
meanings, they stood not merely for separate modes of existence,
for “ substances,’ in general, but actually for personal beings.
This personification of substances has left its most indelible
trace in the concept of genus. Now the word-symbols of con-
ceptual ideas have passed so long from hand to hand in the
service of the understanding, that they have gradually lost all
such fanciful reference. There are many cases in which we
have seen the end, not only of the personification of substances,
but even of the substantialising of concepts. But we are not
called upon, on that account, to dispense with the use whether
of the concepts themselves or of the words that designate them.
We speak of virtue, honour, reason; but our thought does not
translate any one of these concepts into a substance. They have
ceased to be metaphysical substances, and have become logical
subjects. In the same way, then, we shall consider mind, for
the time being, simply as the logical subject of internal experi-
ence. Such a view follows directly from the mode of concept-
formation employed by language, except that it is freed of all
those accretions of crude metaphysics which invariably attach
to concepts in their making by the naive consciousness.

We must take up a precisely similar attitude to other ready-
made concepts that denote special departments or special re-
lations of the internal experience. Thus our language makes a
distinction between ‘mind’ and ‘spirit.’ The two concepts
carry the same meaning, but carry it in different contexts:
their correlates in the domain of external experience are “ body’
and ‘matter.’ The name ‘matter’ is applied to any object of
external experience as it presents itself directly to our senses,
without reference to an inner existence of its own. ‘Body’ is
matter thought of with reference to such an inner existence.
‘Spirit,’ in the same way, denotes the internal existence as
considered out of all connexion with an external existence;
whereas ‘mind,’ especially where it is explicitly opposed to
spirit, presupposes this connexion with a corporeal existence,
given in external experience.

604 WILHELM WUNDT

While the terms ‘mind’ and ‘spirit ’ cover the whole field of
internal experience, the various ‘mental faculties,’ as they are
called, designate the special provinces of mind as distinguished
by a direct introspection. Language brings against us an array
of concepts like ‘sensibility,’ ‘feeling,’ ‘reason,’ ‘understand-
ing,’ — a classification of the processes given in internal per-
ception against which, bound down as we are to the use of these
words, we are practically powerless. What we can do, however,
and what science is obliged to do, is to reach an exact definition
of the concepts, and to arrange them upon a systematic plan.
It is probable that the mental faculties stood originally not
merely for different parts of the field of internal experience, but
for as many different beings; though the relation of these to the
total being, the mind or spirit, was not conceived of in any very
definite way. But the hypostatisation of these concepts lies
so far back in the remote past, and the mythological interpre-
tation of nature is so alien to our modes of thought, that there
is no need here to warn the reader against a too great credulity
in the matter of metaphysical substances. Nevertheless, there
is one legacy which has come down to modern science from the
mythopeeic age. All the concepts that we mentioned just now
have retained a trace of the mythological concept of force; they
are not regarded simply as — what they really are — class-
designations of certain departments of the inner experience, but
are oftentimes taken to be forces, by whose means the various
phenomena are produced. Understanding is looked upon as
the force that enables us to perceive truth; memory as the
force which stores up ideas for future use; and so on. On the
other hand, the effects of these different ‘forces’ manifest them-
selves so irregularly that they hardly seem to be forces in the
proper sense of the word; and so the phrase ‘ mental faculties’
came in to remove all objections. A faculty, as its derivation
indicates, is not a force that must operate, necessarily and im-
mutably, but only a force that may operate. The influence of
the mythological concept of force is here as plain as it could
well be; for the prototype of the operation of force as faculty
is, obviously, to be found in human action. The original

PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY 695

significance of faculty is that of a being which acts. Here,
therefore, in the first formation of psychological concepts, we
have the germ of that confusion of classification with ex-
planation which is one of the besetting sins of empirical psy-
chology. The general statement that the mental faculties are
class concepts, belonging to descriptive psychology, relieves us
of the necessity of discussing them and their significance at the
present stage of our inquiry. Asa matter of fact, one can quite
well conceive of a natural science of the internal experience in
which sensibility, memory, reason and understanding should
be conspicuous by their absence. For the only things that we
are directly cognisant of in internal perception are individual
ideas, feelings, impulses, etc.; and the subsumption of these
individual facts under certain general concepts contributes ab-
solutely nothing toward their explanation.

At the present day, the uselessness of the faculty-concepts is
almost universally conceded. Again, however, there is one
point in which they still exercise a widespread influence. Not
the general class-concepts, but the individual facts that, in the
old order of things, were subsumed under them, are now re-
garded in many quarters as independent phenomena, existing
in isolation. On this view there is, to be sure, no special faculty
of ideation or feeling or volition; but the individual idea, the
individual affective process, and the individual voluntary act
are looked upon as independent processes, connecting with one
another and separating from one another as circumstances
determine. Now introspection declares that all these professedly
independent processes are through and through interconnected
and interdependent. It is evident, therefore, that their separa-
tion involves just the same translation of the products of ab-
straction into real things as we have charged to the account of
the old doctrine of faculties,— only that in this case the ab-
stractions come a little nearer to the concrete phenomena. An
isolated idea, an idea that is separable from the processes of
feeling and volition, no more exists than does an isolated
mental force of ‘understanding.’ Necessary as these distinc-
tions are, then, we must still never forget that they are based

696 WILHELM WUNDT

upon abstractions, — that they do not carry with them any
real separation of objects. Objectively, we can regard the in-
dividual mental processes only as inseparable elements of inter-
connected wholes.

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY

Translated from the German * by
CHARLES HUBBARD JUDD

IT. PSYCHICAL COMPOUNDS
$14. VOLITIONAL PROCESSES

1. Every emotion, made up, as it is, of a unified series of in-
terrelated affective processes, may terminate in one of two
ways. It may give place to the ordinary, variable, and relatively
unemotional course of feelings. Such effective processes which
fade out without any special result, constitute the emotions
in the strict sense, such as were discussed in the last paragraph.
In a second class of cases the emotional process may pass into
a sudden change in ideational and affective content, which
brings the emotion to an instantaneous close; such changes in
the sensation and affective state which are prepared for by an
emotion and bring about its sudden end, are called volitional
acts. The emotion together with its result is a volitional process.
- A volitional process is thus related to an emotion as a pro-
cess of a higher stage, in the same way that an emotion is re-
lated to a feeling. Volitional act is the name of only one part
of the process, that part which distinguishes a volition from an
emotion. The way for the development of volitions out of emo-
tions is prepared by those emotions in connection with which
external pantomimetic expressive movements appear. These
expressive movements appear chiefly at the end of the pro-
cess and generally hasten its completion; this is especially
true of anger, but to some extent also of joy, care, etc. Still,
in these mere emotions there is an entire absence of changes

* From the Grundviss der Psychologie, Lpz. 1896; 7 verb. Aufl. 1905. Re-
printed from Wundt’s Outlines of Psychology translated by C. H. Judd, Lpz.
1897; 3 rev. ed. 1907.

698 WILHELM WUNDT

in the train of ideas, which changes are the immediate causes of
the momentary transformation of the emotion into volitions, and
are also accompanied by characteristic feelings.

This close interconnection of volitional acts with pantomi-

metic expressive movements necessarily leads us to consider as
the earliest stages of volitional development those volitions
which end in certain bodily movements, which are in turn due
_ to the preceding train of ideas and feelings. In other words, we
~ come to look upon volition ending in external volitional acts,
as the earliest stages in the development of volitions. The so-
called internal volitional acts, on the other hand, or those which
close simply with effects on ideas and feelings, appear in every
case to be products of later development.

2. A volitional process which passes into an external act
may be defined as an emotion which closes with a pantomi-
metic movement and has, in addition to the characteristics
belonging to all such movements, the special property of pro-
ducing an external effect which removes the emotion itself. Such
an effect is not possible for all emotions, but only for those in
which the very succession of component feelings produces feel-
ings and ideas which are able to remove the preceding emotion.
This is, of course, most commonly the case when the final result
of the emotion is the direct opposite of the preceding feelings.

‘The fundamental psychological condition for volitional acts ©
is, therefore, the contrast between feelings, and the origin of the
first volitions is most probably in all cases to be traced back
to unpleasurable feelings which arouse external movements,
which in turn produce contrasted pleasurable feelings. The seiz-
ing of food to remove hunger, the struggle against enemies
to appease the feeling of revenge, and other similar processes
are original volitional processes of this kind. The emotions
coming from sense-feelings, and the most widespread social
emotions such as love, hate, anger, and revenge, are thus, both
in men and animals, the common origin of will. A volition is
distinguished in such cases from an emotion only by the fact
that the former has added to its emotional components an ex-
ternal act that gives rise to feelings which, through contrast

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 699

with the feelings contained in the emotion, bring the emotion
itself to an end. The execution of the volitional act may then
lead directly, as was originally always the case, or indirectly
through an emotion of contrasted effective content, into the
ordinary quiet flow of feelings.

3. The richer the ideational and affective contents of experi-
ence, the greater the variety of the emotions and the wider the
sphere of volitions. There is no feeling or emotion which does
not in some way prepare for a volitional act, or at least have
some part in such a preparation. All feelings, even those of a
relatively indifferent character,:contain in some degree an
effort towards or away from some end. This effort may be very
general and aimed merely at the maintenance or removal of the
present affective state. While volition appearsas the most com-
plex form of affective process, presupposing feelings and emo-
tions as its components, still, we must not overlook, on the other
hand, the fact that single feelings continually appear which do
not unite to form emotions, and emotions appear which do not
end in volitional acts. In the total interconnection of psychical
processes, however, these three stages are conditions of one
another and form the related parts of a single process which is
complete only when it becomes a volition. In this sense a feel-
ing may be thought of as the beginning of a volition, or a voli-
tion may be thought of as a composite affective process, and
an emotion may be regarded as an intermediate stage between
the two. ;

4. The single feelings in an emotion which closes with a
volitional act are usually far from being of equal importance.
Certain ones among them, together with their related ideas,
are prominent as those which are most important in preparing
for the act. Those combinations of ideas and feelings which in
our subjective consciousness are the immediate antecedents of
the act, are called motives of volition. Every motive may be}
divided into an ideational and an affective component. The first
we may call the moving reason, the second the impelling feeling
of action. When a beast of prey seizes his victim, the moving
reason is the sight of the victim, the impelling feeling may be

"700 WILHELM WUNDT

either the unpleasurable feeling of hunger or the race-hate
aroused by the sight. The reason for a criminal murder may be
theft, removal of an enemy, or some such idea, the impelling
feeling the feeling of want, hate, revenge, or envy.

When the emotions are of composite character, the reasons
and impelling feelings are mixed, often to so great an extent
that it would be difficuit for the author of the act himself to
decide which was the leading motive. This is due to the fact
that the impelling feelings of a volitional act combine, just
as the elements of composite feelings do, to form a unitary
whole in which all other impulses are subordinated to a single
predominating one; the feelings of like direction strengthening
and accelerating the effect, those of opposite direction weaken-
ing it. In the combinations of ideas and feelings which we call
motives, the final weight of importance in preparing for the act
of will belongs to the feelings, that is, to the impelling feel-
ings rather than to the ideas. This follows from the very fact
that feelings are integral components of the volitional process
itself, while the ideas are of influence only indirectly, through
their connections with the feelings. The assumption that a
volition may arise from pure intellectual considerations, or that
a decision may appear which is opposed to the inclinations ex-
pressed in the feelings, is a psychological contradiction in itself.
It rests upon the abstract concept of a’ will which is trans-
cendental and absolutely distinct from actual psychical voli-
tions. The combination of a number of motives, that is, the
combination of a number of ideas and feelings which stand out
from the composite train of emotions to which they belong as
the ideas and feelings which determine the final discharge of
the act — this combination furnished the essential condition
for the development of will, and also for the discrimination of
the single forms of volitional action.

5. The simplest case of volition is that in which a single
feeling in an emotion of suitable constitution, together with its
accompanying idea, becomes a motive and brings the process
to a close through an appropriate external movement. Such
volitional processes determined by a single motive, may be

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 701

called simple volitions. The movements in which they terminate
are designated impulsive acts. In popular parlance, however,
this definition of impulse by the simplicity of the motive, is not
sufficiently adhered to. Another element, namely, the char-
acter of the feeling that acts as impelling force is, in popular
thought, usually brought into the definition. All acts that
are determined by sense-feelings, especially common feelings,
are generally called impulsive acts without regard to whether a
single motive or a plurality of motives is operative. This basis
of discrimination is psychologically inappropriate and there is
no justification for the complete separation to which it natu-
rally leads between impulsive acts and volitional acts as speci-
fically distinct kinds of psychical processes.

By impulsive act, then, we mean a simple volitional act,
that is, one resulting from a single motive, without reference
to the relative position of this motive in the series of affective
and ideational processes. Impulsive action, thus defined, must
necessarily be the starting point for the development of all
volitional acts, even though it may continue to appear later,
along with the complex volitional processes. To be sure, the
earliest impulsive acts are those which come from sense-feeling.
Thus, most of the acts of animals are impulsive, but such im-
pulsive acts appear continually in the case of man, partly as the
results of simple sense emotions, partly as the products of the
habitual execution of certain volitional acts which were origin-
ally determined by complex motives (10).

6. When several feelings and ideas in the same emotion
tend to produce external action, and when those components
of an emotional train which have become motives tend at the
same time toward different external ends, whether related or
antagonistic, then there arises out of the simple act a complex
volitional process. In order to distinguish this from a simple
volitional act, or impulsive act, we call it a voluntary act.

Voluntary and impulsive acts have in common the charac-
teristic of proceeding from single motives, or from complexes
of motives which have fused together and operate as a single
unequivocal impulse. They differ in the fact that in voluntary

702 WILHELM WUNDT

acts the decisive motive has risen to predominance from among
a number of simultaneous and antagonistic motives. When a
clearly perceptible conflict between these antagonistic motives
precedes the act, we call the volition by the particular name
selective act, and the process preceding it we call a choice. The
predominance of one motive over other simultaneous motives
can be understood only when we presuppose such a conflict
in every case. But we are conscious of this conflict sometimes
clearly, sometimes only vaguely. It is only in those cases in
which we are clearly conscious of the conflict that we speak of
choice in the narrower sense of the word. The difference be-
tween a voluntary activity and a choice activity is therefore
a vanishing quantity. We may say, however, that the ordin-
ary voluntary process is one in which the psychological con-
dition approaches in character impulsive activity, while in
choice the difference between impulsive activity and the higher
mode of behavior is always clear. We can represent these differ-
ent relations, which appear at different stages of voluntary
development, most ob-
viously through some
OO O Y © such schematic dia-
Oe) O b oO gram as that in Fig. 1.
In this diagram the
Fic. 1. Symbolical Representation of (4) an large circles represent
Impulsive Act, (B) a Volitional Act, and .
(C) a. Chem, in each case the total
field of consciousness,
while the small circles within the large ones indicate an idea
with a feeling tone which serves as the motive. The small
circle which lies in the middle represents the decisive motive.
Diagram A represents an impulsive activity, B a voluntary
activity, and C a choice activity. In C alone the conflict of
motives is represented. This is shown in the figure in the
arrows which extend between the circles and the central point
_and represent the conflict of motives.
7. The psychical process immediately preceding the act,
in which process the final motive suddenly gains the ascend-
ency, is called in the case of voluntary acts resolution, in the

A B

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 703

case of selective acts decision. The first word indicates merely
that action is to be carried out in accordance with some con-
sciously adopted motive; the second implies that several
courses of action have been presented as possible and that a
choice has finally been made.

In contrast to the first stages of a volition, which can not be
clearly distinguished from an ordinary emotional process, the
last stages of volition are absolutely characteristic. They are
especially marked by accompanying feelings which never ap-
pear anywhere but in volitions, and must therefore be regarded
as the specific elements peculiar to volition. These feelings are
first of all feelings of resolution and feelings of decision. Feelings
of decision differ from feelings of resolution only in the fact that
the former are more intense.. They are both exciting and relax-
ing feelings, and may be united under various circumstances with
pleasurable or unpleasurable factors. The relatively greater
intensity of the feeling of decision is probably due to its contrast
with the preceding feeling of dowbt which attends the wavering
between different motives. The opposition between doubt and
decision gives the feeling of relaxation a greater intensity. At
the moment when the volitional act. begins, the feelings of re-
solution give place to the specific feeling of activity, which has
its sensation substratum, in the case of external volitional
acts, in the sensations of tension accompanying the move-
ment. This feeling of activity is clearly exciting in its charac-
ter, and may, according to the special motives, of the volition,
be accompanied now by pleasurable, now by unpleasurable
elements, which may in turn vary in the course of the act and
alternate with one another. As a total feeling, this feeling of
activity is a rising and falling temporal process extending
through the whole act and finally passing into the widely
differing feelings, such as those of fulfilment, satisfaction, or
disappointment, or into the feelings and emotions connected
with the special result of the act. Taking the process as seen
in voluntary and selective acts as complete volitional acts, the
essential reason for distinguishing impulsive acts from complete
volitional acts is to be found in the absence of the antecedent

704, WILHELM WUNDT

feelings of resolution, and decision. The feeling connected
with the motive passes in the case of impulsive acts directly
into the feeling of activity, and then into the feelings which
correspond to the effect of the act.
8. The transition from simple to complex volitional acts
brings with it a number of other changes which are of great
importance for the development of will. The first of these
changes is to be found in the fact that the emotions which
introduce volitions lose their intensity more and more, as a
result of the counteraction of different mutually inhibiting
feelings, so that finally a volitional act may result from an
apparently unemotional affective state. To be sure, emotion
is never entirely wanting; in order that the motive which arises
in an ordinary train of feelings may bring about a resolution
or decision, it must always be connected with some degree
of emotional excitement. The emotional excitement can, how-
ever, be so weak and transient that we overlook it. We do this
the more easily the more we are inclined to unite in the single
idea of the volition both the short emotion which merely attends
the rise and action of the motive, and the resolution and execu-
tion which constitute the act itself. This weakening of the emo-
tions results. mainly from the combinations of psychical pro-
cesses which we call intellectual development and of which we
shall treat more fully in the discussion of the interconnec-
tion of psychical compounds (§ 17). Intellectual processes can,
indeed, never do away with emotions; such processes are, on
the contrary, in many cases the sources of new and character-
istic emotions. A volition entirely without emotion, determined
by a purely intellectual motive, is, as already remarked (p.
700), a psychological impossibility. Still, intellectual develop-
ment exercises beyond a doubt a moderating influence on emo-
tions. This is particularly true whenever intellectual motives
enter into the emotions which prepare the way for volitional
acts. This may be due partly to the counteraction of the feel-
ings which generally takes place, or it may be due partly to the
slow development of intellectual motives, for emotions usually
are the stronger, the more rapidly their component feelings rise.

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 705

g. Connected with this moderation of the emotional com-
ponents of volitions under the influence of intellectual motives,
is still another change. It consists in the fact that the act which
closes the volition is not an external movement. The effect
which removes the exciting emotion is itself a psychical process
which does not show itself directly through any external symp-
tom whatever. Such an effect which is imperceptible for ob-
jective observation is called an internal volitional act. The
transition from external to internal volitional acts is so bound
up with intellectual development that the very character of
the intellectual processes themselves is to be explained to a
great extent by the influence of volitions on the train of ideas
(§15, 9). The act which closes the volition in such a case is
some change in the train of ideas, which change follows the pre-
ceding motives as the result of some resolution or decision. The
feelings which accompany these acts of immediate preparation,
and the feeling of activity connected with the change itself,
agree entirely with the feelings observed in the case of external
volitional acts. Furthermore, action is followed by more or less
intense feelings of satisfaction, and a removal of preceding emo-
tional and affective strain. The only difference, accordingly,
between these special volitions connected with the intellectual
development and the earlier forms of volition, is to be found
in the fact that here the final effect of the volition does not
show itself in an external bodily movement.

Still, we may have a bodily movement as the secondary
result of an internal volitional act, when the resolution refers to
an external act to be executed at some later time. Insuchacase
the act itself always results from a second, later volition. The
decisive motives for this second process come, to be sure, from
the preceding internal volition, but the two are nevertheless
distinct and different processes. Thus, for example, the forma-
tion of a resolution to execute an act in the future under cer-
tain expected conditions, is an internal volition, while the later
performance of the act is an external action different from the
first, even though requiring the first as a necessary antecedent.
It is evident that where an external volitional act arises from

706 WILHELM WUNDT

a decision after a conflict among the motives, we have a transi-
tional form in which it is impossible to distinguish clearly be-
tween the two kinds of volition, namely, that which consists
in a single unitary process and that which is made up of two
processes, that is, of an earlier and a later volition. In such a
transitional form, if the decision is at all separated in time
from the act itself, the decision may be regarded as an internal .
volitional act preparatory to the execution.

10. These two changes which take place during the develop-
ment of will, namely, the moderation of emotions and the ren-
dering independent of internal volitions, are changes of a pro-
gressive order. In contrast with these there is a third process
which is one of retrogradation. When complex volitions with the
same motive are often repeated, the conflict between the
motives grows less intense; the opposing motives which were
overcome in earlier cases grow weaker and finally disappear
entirely. The complex act has then passed into a simple, or im-
pulsive act. This retrogradation of complex volitional processes
shows clearly the utter inappropriateness of the limitation of
the concept “impulsive” to acts of will arising from sense-
feelings. As a result of the gradual elimination of opposing mo-
tives, there are intellectual, moral, and esthetic, as well as
simple sensuous, impulsive acts.

This regressive development is but one step in a process
which unites all the external acts of living being, whether they
are volitional acts or automatic reflex movements. When the
habituating practice of certain acts is carried further, the de-
termining motives finally become, even in impulsive acts,
weaker and more transient. The external stimulus originally
aroused a strongly affective idea which operated as a motive,
but now the stimulus causes the discharge of the act before
it can arouse an idea. In this way the impulsive movement
finally becomes an automatic movement. The more often this
automatic movement is repeated, the easier it, in turn, becomes,
even when the stimulus is not sensed, as for example in deep
sleep or during complete diversion of the attention. The move-
ment now appears as a pure physiological reflex, and the voli-
tional process has become a simple reflex process.

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 707

This gradual reduction of volitional to mechanical processes,
which depends essentially on the elimination of all the psychical
elements between the beginning and end of the act, may take
place either in the case of movements which were originally
impulsive, or in the case of movements which have become °
impulsive through the retrogradation of voluntary acts. It is
not improbable that all the reflex movements of both animals
and men originate in this way. As evidence of this we have,
besides the above described reduction of volitional acts through
practice to pure mechanical processes, also the purposeful
character of reflexes, which points to the presence at some time
of purposive ideas as motives. Furthermore, the fact that the
movements of the lowest animals are all evidently simple vo-
litional acts, not reflexes, tells for the same view, so that here
too there is no justification for the assumption frequently made
that acts of will have been developed from reflex movements.
Finally, we can most easily explain from this point of view the
fact mentioned in § 13, namely, that expressive movements may
belong to any one of the forms possible in the scale of external
acts. Obviously the simplest movements are impulsive acts,
while many complicated pantomimetic movements probably
came originally from voluntary acts which passed first into
impulsive and then into reflex movements. Observed phenom-
ena make it necessary to assume that the retrogradations
which begin in the individual life are gradually carried fur-
ther through the transmission of acquired dispositions, so
that certain acts which were originally voluntary may appear
from the first in later descendants as impulsive or reflex move-
ments.

11. The exact observation of volitional processes is, for
the reasons given above, impossible in the case of volitional
acts which come naturally in the course of life; the only way
in which a thorough psychological investigation can be made,
is, therefore, through experimental observation. ‘To be sure,
we can not produce volitional processes of every kind whenever
we wish to do so, we must limit ourselves therefore to the ob-

1 Outlines of Psychology, p. 191.

708 WILHELM WUNDT

servation of such processes as can be easily influenced through
external means, namely such as begin with external stimula-
tions and terminate in external acts. The experiments which
serve this purpose are called reaction experiments. They may
be described in their essentials as follows. A volitional process
of simple or complex character is incited by an external sense-
stimulus and then after the occurrence of certain psychical
processes which serve in part as motives, the volition is brought
to an end by a motor reaction. Reaction experiments have a
second and more general significance in addition to their signi-
ficance as means for the analysis of volitional processes. They
furnish means for the measurement of the rate of certain psy-
chical and psycho-physical processes.

The simplest reaction experiment that can be tried is as fol-
lows. At the end of a short but always uniform interval (2—3
sec.) after a signal which serves to concentrate the attention
has been given, an external stimulus is allowed to act on some
sense-organ. At the moment when the stimulus is perceived,
a movement which has been determined upon and prepared -
before, as, for example, a movement of the hand is executed.
The psychological conditions in this experiment correspond es-
sentially to those of a stmple volition. The sense impression
serves as a simple motive, and this is to be followed invariably
by a particular act. If now we measure objectively by means
of either graphic or other chronometric apparatus, the interval
which elapses between the action of the stimulus and the execu-
tion of the movement, it will be possible, by frequently repeated
experiments of the same kind, to become thoroughly acquainted
with the subjective processes which make up the whole
reaction, while at the same time the results of the objective
measurement willfurnish a check for the constancy or possible
variations in these subjective processes. This check is especially
useful in those cases where some condition in the experiment,
and thereby the subjective course of the volition itself, is inten-
tionally modified.

12. Such a modification may, indeed, be introduced even
in the simple form of the experiment just described, by vary-

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 709

ing the way in which the reactor prepares, before the appear-
ance of the stimulus, for the execution of the act. When the
preparation is of such a character that expectation is directed
toward the stimulus which is to serve as a motive, and the ex-
ternal act does not take place until the stimulus is clearly re-
cognized, there results a complete or sensorial form of reaction.
When, on the other hand, the preparatory expectation is so
directed toward the act, that the movement follows the recep-
tion of the stimulus as rapidly as possible, there results a short-
ened form of reaction, or the so-called muscular reaction. In
the first case the ideational factor of the expectation is a pale
memory image of the familiar sense impression. When the
period of preparation is more extended, this image oscillates
between alternating clearness and obscurity. The effective
element is a feeling of expectation which oscillates in a similar
manner and is connected with sensations of strain from the
sense-organ to be affected, as for example with tension of the
tympanic membrane, or of the ocular muscles of accommoda-
tion and movement. At the moment when the impression ar-
rives the preparatory feelings and sensations mentioned are fol-
lowed by a comparatively weak relieving feeling of surprise.
This surprise in turn gives place to a clearly subsequent arous-
ing feeling of activity which accompanies the reaction move-
ment and appears in conjunction with the inner tactual sensa-
tions. In the second case, on the other hand, where the reaction
is of the shortened form, we may observe during the period of
preparatory expectation a pale, wavering memory image of
the motor organ which is to react (e. g., the hand) together
with strong sensations of strain in the same, and a fairly con-
tinuous feeling of expectation connected with these sensations.
At the moment when the stimulus arrives the state of expecta-
tion gives place to a strong feeling of surprise. There connect
with this surprise both the feeling of activity which accom-
panies the reaction and also the sensations which arise in the
reaction. So rapid is this connection that the surprise and the
subsequent state are not distinguished at all, or at most only
very vaguely. The sensorial reaction-time is on the average

710 WILHELM WUNDT

0.210—0.290 sec. ; muscular reaction-time averages from 0.100—
0.180 sec. (the shortest time is for sound, the longest for light).
13. By introducing special conditions we may make com-
plete and shortened reactions the starting points for the study
of the development of volitions in two different directions. Com-
plete (sensorial) reactions furnish the means of passing from
simple to complex volitions because we can in this case easily |
insert different psychical processes between the perception of
the impression and the execution of the reaction. Thus we have
a voluntary act of relatively simple character when we allow an
act of direct sensory cognition and discrimination to follow the
perception of the impression and then let the movement depend
on this second process. In this case, not the immediate impres-
sion, but the idea which results from the act of cognition or
discrimination is the motive for the act to be performed. This
motive is only one of a greater or smaller number of equally
possible motives which could have come up in place of it; as a
result the reaction movement takes on the character of a volun-
tary act. In fact, we may observe clearly the feeling of resolu-
tion antecedent to the act and also the feelings preceding the
feeling of resolution and connected with the perception of the
impression. This is still more emphatically the case, and the
succession of ideational and affective processes is at the same
time more complicated, when we bring in still another psychical
process, as for example memory processes, to serve as the motive
for the execution of the movement. Finally, the voluntary
process becomes one of choice when in such experiments the act
is not merely influenced by a plurality of motives in such a way
that several must follow one another before one determines the
act, but when, in addition to that, one of a number of possible
different acts is decided upon according to the motive presented.
This kind of reaction takes place when preparations are made
for different movements, for example one with the right hand
another with the left hand, or one with each of the ten fingers,
and the condition is prescribed for each movement that an im-
pression of a particular quality shall serve as its motive, for
example the impression blue for the right hand, red for the left.

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY = 711

14. Shortened (muscular) reactions, on the contrary, may
be used to investigate the reirogradation of volitional acts as
they become reflex movements. In this form of reaction the
preparatory expectation is directed entirely toward the ex-
ternal act which is to be executed as rapidly as possible, so that
voluntary inhibition or execution of the act in accordance with
the special character of the impression can here not take place.
In other words, a transition from simple to complex acts of will,
is in this case impossible. On the other hand, it is easy by prac-
tice so to habituate one’s self to the invariable connection of
an impression and a particular movement, that the process
of perception fades out more and more or takes place after the
motor impulse, so that finally the movement becomes just like
a reflex movement. This reduction of volition to a mechanical
process, shows itself objectively most clearly in the shortening
of the objective time to that observed for pure reflexes, and
shows itself subjectively in the fact that for psychological ob-
servation there is a complete coincidence in point of time, of
impression and reaction, while the characteristic feeling of re-
solution gradually disappears entirely.

III. INTERCONNECTION OF PSYCHICAL
COMPOUNDS

§17. APPERCEPTIVE COMBINATIONS.

1. Associations in all their forms are regarded by us as
passive experiences, because the feeling of activity, which is
characteristic of all processes of volition and attention, never
arises except as it is added to the already completed association
process in a kind of apperception of the resultant, given content.
Associations are, accordingly, processes which can arouse
volitions but are not themselves directly influenced by voli-
tions. This absence of any dependence on volition is, however,
the criterion of a passive process.

The case is essentially different with the second kind of
combinations which are formed between different psychical

712 WILHELM WUNDT

compounds and their elements, namely, the apperceptive com-
binations. Here the feeling of activity with its accompanying
variable sensations of tension does not merely follow the com-
binations as an after-effect produced by them, but it precedes
them so that the combinations themselves are immediately re-
cognized as formed with the aid of attention. In this sense these
experiences are called active experiences.

2. Apperceptive combinations include a large number of
psychical processes which are distinguished in popular parlance
under the general terms thinking, reflection, imagination, and
understanding. These are all regarded as psychical processes
of a type higher than sense perceptions or pure memory pro-
cesses, while at the same time they are all looked upon as dif-
ferent from one another. Especially is this true of the so-called
functions of imagination and understanding. In contrast with
this loose view of the faculty theory, association psychology
sought to find a unitary principle by subsuming also the apper-
ceptive combinations of ideas under the general concept of as-
sociation, and at the same time limiting the concept, as noted
above,! to successive association. This reduction to successive
association was effected either by neglecting the essential sub-
jective and objective distinguishing marks of apperceptive
combinations, or by attempting to avoid the difficulties of an
explanation, through the introduction of certain supplementary
concepts taken from popular psychology. Thus, “ interest”
and “intelligence” were credited with an influence on associa-
tions. Very often this view was based on the erroneous notion
that the recognition of certain distinguishing features in apper-
ceptive combinations and associations meant the assertion of
a fundamental division between the former and the latter. Of
course, this is not true. All psychical processes are connected
with associations as much as with the original sense percep-
tions. Yet, just as associations always form a part of every
sense perception and in spite of that appear in memory pro-
cesses as relatively independent processes, so apperceptive
combinations are based always on associations, but the essen-

1 Outlines of Psychology, p. 251.

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 713

tial attributes of these apperceptive combinations are not
traceable to associations.

3. In trying to account for the essential attributes of apper-
ceptive combinations, we may divide the psychical processes
which belong to this class into simple and complex apperceptive
functions. The simple functions are those of relating and com-
paring, the complex those of synthesis and analysis:

A. Simple Apperceptive Functions (Relating and Comparing).
_ 4. The most elementary apperceptive function is that of
relating two psychical contents to each other. The grounds for such
relating are always given in the single psychical compounds
and their associations, but the actual carrying out of the pro-
cess itself is a special apperceptive activity through which the
relation itself becomes a special conscious content, distinct
from the contents which are related, though indeed inseparably
connected with them. For example, when we. recognize the
identity of an object with one perceived before, or when we are
conscious of a definite relation between a remembered event
and a present impression, there is in both cases a relating
apperceptive activity connected with the associations.

So long as the recognition remains a pure association, the pro-
cess of relating is limited to the feeling of familiarity which fol-
lows the assimilation of the new impression either immediately,
or after a short interval. When, on the contrary, apperception
is added to association, this feeling is supplied with a clearly
recognized ideational substratum. The earlier perception and
the new impression are separated in time and then brought
into a relation of agreement on the basis of their essential at-
tributes. The case is similar when we become conscious of the
motives of amemoryact. This also presupposes that a compari-
son of the memory image with the impression which occasioned
it, is added to the merely associative process which gave rise
to the image. This, it will be seen, is a process that can be
brought about only through attention.

5. Thus, the relating function is brought into activity through
associations, wherever these associations themselves or their

714 WILHELM WUNDT

products are made the objects of voluntary observation. The
relating function is connected, as the. examples mentioned
show, with the function of comparing, whenever the related
contents of consciousness are clearly separated processes, be-
longing to one and the same class of psychical experiences.
Relating activity is, therefore, the wider concept, comparison
is the narrower. A comparison is possible only when the com-
pared contents are brought into relation with one another. On
the other hand, conscious contents may be related without be-
ing compared with one another, as is the case, for example,
when an attribute is related to its object, or when one process
is related to another which regularly follows or precedes it. As
a result of this it follows that where the fuller conditions neces-
sary for a comparison are present, the experiences given may be
merely related, or they may also be compared with each other.
Thus, one calls it relating when he thinks of a present impres-
sion as the reason for remembering an earlier experience; he
calls it comparing, on the other hand, when he establishes cer-
tain definite points of agreement or difference between the
earlier and the present impression.

6. The process of comparing is, in turn, made up of two ele-
mentary functions which are asa rule intimately interconnected.
These two elementary functions are first, the perception of agree-
ments, and second, the perception of differences. There is a mis-
taken view prevalent even in present-day psychology. It
originated in popular psychology and was strengthened by the
discussions of logical intellectualism. It consists in the accept-
ance of the notion that the mere existence of psychical ele-
ments and compounds is identical with their apperceptive
comparison. Every sensation is accordingly treated asa “‘sens-
ory judgment,” every immediate perception of distance as
a “judgment of depth,” and so on through the whole series of
processes. In all these cases, however, the judgment appears
after the sensations and ideas; the judgment must, therefore,
be recognized as a separate process. To be sure, agreements
and differences arise in our psychical processes, if they did
not we could not observe them. But the comparing activity

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 715

through which these likenesses and differences in sensations and
ideas are made evident, is not identical with the sensations and
ideas themselves. It is a function which may arise in connection
with these elements, but does not necessarily so arise.

7. Even the psychical elements, that is, sensations, and
simple feelings, can be compared with reference to their agree-
ments and differences. Indeed, it is through a series of such
comparison that we arrange these psychical elements into sys-
tems, each one of which contains the elements which are most
closely related. Within a given system two kinds of comparison
are possible, namely, comparison im respect to quality and
comparisons in respect to intensity. Then, too, a comparison
between grades of clearness is possible when attention is paid
to the way in which the elements appear in consciousness.
In the same way comparison is applied to intensive and exten-
sive psychical compounds. Every psychical element and every
psychical compound, in so far as it is a member of a regular sys-
tem, constitutes a psychical magnitude. A determination of the ©
value of such a psychical magnitude is possible only through
comparison with some other magnitude in the same system.
Psychical magnitude is, accordingly, an original attribute of
every psychical element and compound. It is of various kinds,
as intensity, quality, extensive (spatial and temporal) value,
and when the different states of consciousness are considered,
clearness. But the determination of psychical value can be
effected only through the apperceptive function of comparison.

8. Psychical measurement differs from physical measurement
in the fact that the latter may be carried out in acts of com-
parison separated almost indefinitely in time, because its ob-
jects are relatively constant. For example, we can determine
the height of a certain mountain to-day with a barometer and
then after a long time we may determine the height of another
mountain, and if no sensible changes in the configuration of the
land have taken place in the interval, we can compare the re-
sults of our two measurements. Psychical compounds, on the
other hand, are not relatively permanent objects, but contin-
ually changing processes, so that we can compare two such

716 WILHELM WUNDT

psychical magnitudes only when other conditions remain the
same, and when the two factors to be compared follow each
other in immediate succession. These requirements have as
their immediate corollaries: first, that there is no absolute
standard for the comparison of psychical magnitudes, but
every such comparison stands by itself and is of merely relative
validity; second, that finer comparisons are possible only be-
tween psychical magnitudes of the same dimension, so that a
reduction, analogous to that by which the most widely separated
physical quantities, such as periods of time and physical forces,
are all expressed in terms of one dimension of space, is out of the
question in psychical comparisons.

g. It follows that the possible relations between psychical
magnitudes which can be established by direct comparison
are limited in number. The establishment of such relations
is possible only in certain particularly favorable cases. These
favorable cases are (1) the equality between two psychical mag-
- nitudes and (2) the just noticeable difference between two such
magnitudes, as for example two sensation intensities of like
quality, or two qualities of like intensity belonging to the same
dimension. As a somewhat more complex case which still lies
within the limits of immediate comparison we have (3) the
equality of two differences between magnitudes, especially when
these magnitudes belong to neighboring parts of the same sys-
tem. It is clear that in each of these three kinds of psychical
measurements the two fundamental functions in apperceptive
comparison, namely the perception of agreements and the per-
ception of differences, are both applied together. In the first
case, one of two psychical magnitudes, A and B, is gradually
varied until it agrees for immediate comparison with the other;
thus, for example, B is varied until it agrees with A. In the
second case A and B are taken equal at first and then B is
changed until it appears either just noticeably greater or just
noticeably smaller than A. Finally, the third case is used to the
greatest advantage when a whole line of psychical magnitudes,
as for example of sensation intensities, extending from A asa
lower limit to C as an upper limit, is so divided by a middle

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 717

quantity B, which has been found by gradual variations, and
is so placed that the partial distance 4B is apperceived as equal
to BC.

to. The most direct and most easily utilizable results de-
rived from these methods of comparison are given by the second
method, or the method of minimal differences as it is called. The
difference between the physical stimuli which corresponds to
the just noticeable difference between psychical magnitudes is
called the difference threshold of the stimulus. The intensity
at which the resulting psychical process, as for example a
sensation, can be just apperceived, is called the stimulus
threshold. Observation shows that the difference threshold of
the stimulus increases in proportion to the distance from the
stimulus threshold, in such a way that the relation between the
difference threshold and the absolute quantity of the stimulus
or the relative difference threshold, remains constant. If, for
example, a certain sound the intensity of which is 1 must be
increased 1-3 in order that the sensation may be just noticeably
greater, a sound whose intensity is 2 must be increased 2-3, one
with an intensity 3 must be increased 3-3, etc., to reach the dif-
ference threshold. This law is called Weber’s law, after its
discoverer E. H. WEBER. It is easily understood when we look
upon it as a law of apperceptive comparison. From this point of
view it must obviously be interpreted to mean that psychical
magnitudes can be compared only according to their relative values.

This view that WEBER’S law is an expression of the general
law of the relativity of psychical magnitudes, assumes that the
psychical magnitudes which are compared, themselves in-
crease within the limits of the validity of the law in direct pro-
portion to their stimuli. It has not yet been possible to demon-
strate the truth of this assumption on its physiological side, on
account of the difficulties of measuring exactly the stimulation
of nerves and sense-organs. Still, we have evidence in favor of
it in the psychological fact that in certain special cases, where
the conditions of observation lead very naturally to a compari-
son of absolute differences in magnitude, the absolute difference
threshold, instead of the relative threshold, is found to be con-

718 WILHELM WUNDT

stant. We have such a case, for example, in the comparison,
within wide limits, of minimal differences in pitch. Then, too,
where large differences in sensations are compared according
to the third method described above (p. 716), it is found in
general that equal absolute stimulus differences, not relative
differences, are perceived as equal. This shows that appercep-
tive comparison follows wo different principles under different
conditions, a principle of relative comparison (WEBER’s law)
which is the more general, and a principle of absolute compari-
son which takes the place of the first principle under special
conditions which favor such a form of apperception.

11. As special cases among the apperceptive comparisons
generally falling under WEBER’s law, are the comparisons of
magnitudes which are related to each other as relatively greatest
sensation differences or, when dealing with feelings, as opposites.
The phenomena which appear in such cases are usually grouped
together under the class name contrasts. In the department
where contrasts have been most thoroughly investigated, that
is, in the case of light sensations, there is generally an utter lack
of discrimination between two phenomena which are obviously
entirely different in origin, though their results are to a certain
extent related. We may distinguish these as light induction or
physiological contrast, and true contrast or psychological con-
trast. Physiological contrasts are closely connected with the
phenomena of after-images, perhaps they are the same. Psycho-
logical contrasts are essentially different; they are usually
pushed into the background by the stronger physiological
contrasts when the impressions are intense. Psychological con-
trasts are distinguished from physiological by two important
characteristics. First, psychical contrasts do not reach their
greatest intensity when the brightness and saturation are
greatest, but when the sensations are at the medium stages,
where the eye is most sensitive to changes in brightness and
saturation. Second, under favorable conditions psychical con-
trasts can be removed by comparison with an independent
object. Especially the latter characteristic shows these con-
trasts to be unqualifiedly the products of comparisons. Thus

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 719

for example, when a gray square is laid on a black ground and
close by a similar gray square is laid on a white ground and
all are covered with transparent paper, the two squares appear
entirely different; the one on the black ground looks bright,
nearly white, while the square on the white ground looks dark,
nearly black. Now after-images and irradiations are very weak
when the colors are thus seen through translucent media, so
that it may be assumed that the phenomenon described is a
psychical contrast. If, again, a strip of black cardboard which
is also covered with the transparent paper, and is therefore
exactly the same gray as the two squares, is held in such a
position that it connects the two squares, the contrast will be
entirely removed, or, at least, very much diminished. If in this
experiment a colored ground is used instead of the achromatic
ground, the gray squares will appear very clearly in the corre-
sponding complementary color. But here, too, the contrast
can be made to disappear through comparison with an inde-
pendent gray object.

12. Similar contrasts appear also in other spheres of sensa-
tion when the conditions for their demonstration are favor-
able. They are also especially marked in the case of feelings
and may arise under proper conditions in the case of spatial
and temporal ideas. Sensations of pitch are relatively most free
from contrast, for most persons have a well developed ability
to recognize absolute pitch and this probably tends to overcome
contrast. In the case of feelings the effect of contrast is intimately
connected with the natural opposition between effective quali-
ties. Thus, pleasurable feelings are intensified by unpleasant
feelings immediately preceding, and the same holds for many
feelings of relaxation following feelings of strain, as for example
in the case of a feeling of fulfilment after expectation. The effect
of contrast in the case of spatial and temporal ideas is most
obvious when the same spatial or temporal interval is compared
alternately with a longer and with a shorter interval. In such
cases the interval appears different; in comparison with the
shorter it appears greater, in comparison with the longer,
smaller. Here, too, the contrast between spatial ideas can be

' 720 WILHELM WUNDT

removed by bringing an object between the contrasted figures
in such a way that it is possible easily to relate them.

13. We may regard the phenomena which result from the
apperception of an impression the real character of which dif-
fers from the character expected, as special modifications of
psychical contrast. For example, if we are prepared to lift a
heavy weight, and find in the actual lifting of the weight that
it proves to be light, or if we lift a heavy weight when we ex-
pected a light one, the result is in the first case an underestima-
tion, in the second an overestimation of the real weight. If a
series of exactly equal weights of different sizes are made to
vary in size so that they look like a set of weights varying
regularly from a lighter to a heavier they will appear to be dif-
ferent in weight when raised. The smallest will seem to be the
heaviest and the largest to be the lightest. The familiar as-
sociation that the greater volume is connected with the greater
mass determines in this case the tendency of expectation. The
false estimation of the weight then results from the contrast
between the real and the expected sensation.

B. Complex Apperceptive Functions. (Synthesis and Analysis).

14. When the simple processes of relating and comparing
are repeated and combined several times, the complex psychical
functions of synthesis and analysis arise. Synthesis is primarily
the product of the relating activity of apperception, analysis
of the comparing activity.

As a combining function apperceptive synthesis is based
upon fusions and associations. It differs from fusions and as-
sociations in the fact that some of the ideational and affective
elements which are brought forward by the association are
voluntarily emphasized and others are pushed into the back-
ground. The motives for the choice between the elements can
be explained only from the whole previous development of the
individual consciousness. As a result of this voluntary activity
the product of this synthesis is a complex in which all the com-
ponents are derived from former sense perceptions and associa-
tions, but in which the combination of these components may
differ more or less from the original forms.

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 721

The ideational elements of a compound thus resulting from
apperceptive synthesis may be regarded as the substratum
for the rest of its contents, and so we call such a compound in
general an aggregateidea. When the combination of the elements
is peculiar, that is, markedly different from the products of
associations, the aggregate idea and each of its relatively in-
dependent ideational components is called an idea of imagina-
tion or image of imagination. Since the voluntary synthesis may
vary more or Jess from the combinations presented in sense
perception and association, it follows that practically no sharp
line of demarcation can be drawn between images of imagina-
tion and those of memory. But we have a more essential mark
of the apperceptive process in the positive characteristic which
appears in the fact that it depends on a voluntary synthesis,
than we have in the negative fact that the combination does
not correspond in character to any particular sense perception.
This positive characteristic is also the source of a most striking
difference between images of imagination and those of memory.
The difference in question consists in the fact that the sensation
elements of an apperceptive compound are much more like
those of an immediate sense perception in clearness and dis-
tinctness, and usually also in completeness and intensity. This
is easily explained by the fact that the reciprocally inhibitory
influences which the uncontrolled associations exercise on one
another, and which prevent the formation of fixed memory
images, are diminished or removed by the voluntary empha-
sizing of certain particular ideational compounds. It is possible
to mistake images of imagination for real experiences. In the
case of memory images this is possible only when they become
images of imagination, that is, when the memories are no longer
allowed to arise passively, but are to some extent produced by
the will. Generally, there are such voluntary modifications of
memories through a mixing of real with imagined elements.
All our memories are therefore made up of “fancy and truth.” ?
Memory images thus change under the influence of our feelings
and volition to images of imagination, and we generally deceive
ourselves with their resemblance to real experiences.

1 Dichtung und Wahrheit.

722 WILHELM WUNDT

15. From the aggregate ideas which thus result from apper-
ceptive synthesis there arise two forms of apperceptive analysis
which work themselves out in opposite directions. The one is
known in popular parlance as activity of the imagination, the
second as activity of the understanding. The two are by no
means absolutely different, as might be surmised from these
names, but are, rather, closely related and always connected
with each other. Their fundamental determining motives are
what distinguish them and condition all their secondary dif-
ferences and also the reaction which they exercise on the syn-
thetic function.

In the case of the activity of “ imagination” the motive is
the reproduction of real complexes of experience or of experi-
ences analogous to reality. This is the earlier form of apperceptive
analysis and arises directly from association. It begins with a
more or less comprehensive aggregate idea made up of a variety
of ideational and affective elements and embracing the general
content of a complex experience in which the single compo-
nents are only indefinitely distinguished. The aggregate idea
is then divided in a series of successive acts into a number of
more definite, connected compounds, partly spatial, partly
temporal in character. The primary voluntary synthesis is
thus followed by analytic acts which may in turn give rise to
the motives for a new synthesis and thus to a repetition of
the whole process with a partially modified, or more limited
aggregate idea.

The activity of imagination shows two stages of development.
The first is more passive and arises directly from the ordinary
memory function. It appears continually in the train of thought
especially in the form of an anticipation of the future, and plays
an important part in psychical development as a preparation
or antecedent of volitions. It may, however, in an analogous
way, appear as a representation in thought of imaginary situa-
tions or of successions of external phenomena. The second, or
active, form of imagination is under the influence of a fixed
idea of some end, and therefore presupposes a high degree of
voluntary control over the images of imagination, and a strong

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 723

interference, partly inhibitory, partly selective, with the mem-
ory images that tend to push themselves into consciousness
without voluntary action. Even the first synthesis of the ag-
gregate idea is more systematic when produced by this active
process. And an aggregate idea, when once formed in this way,
is held more firmly and subjected to a more complete analysis
than in passive imagination. Very often the components them-
selves are subordinate aggregate ideas to which the same pro-
cess of analysis is again applied. In this way the principle of
organic division according to the end in view governs all the
products and processes of active imagination. The produc-
tions of art show this most clearly. Still, there are, in the ordi-
nary play of imagination, the most various intermediate stages
between passive imagination, or that which arises directly
from memory, and active imagination, or that which is directed
- by fixed ends.

16. In contrast with this imagination or imaginative re-
production of real experiences, or of experiences which may
be thought of as real, the function of the “understanding” is
the perception of agreements and differences and other derived
logical relations between contents of experience. Understanding
also begins with aggregate ideas in which a number of experi-
ences which are real or may be ideated as real, are voluntarily
set in relation to one another and combined into a unitary whole.
The analysis which takes place in this case, however, is turned
by its fundamental motive in a different direction. Such analy-
sis consists not merely in a clearer grasp of the single compo-
nents of the aggregate idea, but it consists also in the establish-
ment of the manifold relations which exist between the various
components and which we may discover through comparison.
In establishing such relations itis possible, as soon as analyses
have been made several times, to introduce into any particular
case the results gained through relating and comparing processes
which were carried out on other occasions.

As a consequence of this stricter application of the element-
ary relating, and comparing functions, the activity of under-
standing follows definite rules even in its external form, especi-

724 WILHELM WUNDT

ally when it is highly developed. The fact which showed itself
in the case of imagination and even of memory, appears here in
a developed form. The fact in question is that the apperceived
relations between the various psychical contents are presented
in imagination and memory, not merely simultaneously, but
successively, so that we proceed from one relation to the next,
and so on. In the case of understanding, this successive present-
ation of relations develops into the discursive division of the
aggregate idea. This is expressed in the law of the duality of the
logical forms of thought, according to which, analysis resulting
from relating comparison divides the content of the aggre-
gate idea into two parts, subject and predicate, and may then
separate each of these parts again once or several times. These
secondary divisions give rise to grammatical forms which stand
in a logical relation analogous to that of subject and predicate,
such as noun and attributive, verb and object, verb and ad-
verb. In this way the process of apperceptive analysis results
in a judgment which finds expression in the sentence.

For the psychological explanation of judgment it is of funda-
mental importance that judgment be regarded, not as a syn-
thetic, but as an analytic function. The original aggregate ideas
which are divided by judgment into their reciprocally related
components, are exactly like ideas of imagination. The pro-
ducts of analysis which result from judgment are, on the other
hand, not as in the case of imagination, images of more limited
extent and greater clearness, but conceptual ideas, that is, ideas
which stand, with regard to other partial ideas of the same
whole, in some one of the relations which are discovered through
the general relating and comparing functions. If we call the
aggregate idea which is subjected to such a relating analysis
a thought, then a judgment is a division of this thought into its
components, and a concept is the product of such a division.

17. Concepts found in this way are arranged in certain
general classes according to the character of the analyses
which produced them. These classes are the concepts of objects,
concepts of attributes, and concepts of states. Judgment as a
division of the aggregate idea, sets an object in relation to its

OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOGY 725

attributes or states, or it sets various objects in relation to one
another. Since a single concept can never, strictly speaking,
be thought of by itself, but is always connected in the whole
idea with one or more other concepts, the conceptual ideas
are strikingly different from the ideas of imagination because
of the indefiniteness and variableness of the former. This
indefiniteness is essentially increased by the fact: that as
a result of the like outcome of different kinds of judgment,
concepts arise which may form components of many ideas
which differ in their concrete characters. A concept of this
kind can therefore be used in a great variety of different ap-
plications. Such general concepts constitute, on account of
the wide application of relating analysis to different contents
of judgment, the great majority of all concepts; and they
have a greater or smaller number of corresponding single
ideational contents. A single idea is selected from this group
of contents as a representative of the concept. ‘This gives
the conceptual idea of a greater definiteness. At the same
time there is always connected with this idea the conscious-
ness that it is merely a representative. This consciousness
generally takes the form of a characteristic feeling, the conceptual
feeling. This feeling may be traced to the fact that obscure
ideas, which have the attributes which make them suitable
to serve as representations of the concept, tend to force them-
selves into consciousness in the form of memory images. As
evidence of this we have the fact that the feeling is very in-
tense when any concrete image of the concept is chosen as
its representative, as for example when a particular individual
stands for the concept man, while it disappears almost en-
tirely as soon as the representative idea differs entirely in
content from the objects included under the concept. Word
ideas fulfill this latter condition and that is what gives them
their importance as universal aids to thought. Word ideas
are furnished to the individual consciousness in a finished
state, so that we must leave to social psychology the ques-
tion of the psychological development of the processes of
thought which are active in their formation.

726 WILHELM WUNDT

18. From all that has been said it appears that the activ-
ities of imagination and understanding are not specifically
different, but interrelated; that they are inseparable in their
rise and manifestations, and are based at bottom on the same
fundamental functions of apperceptive synthesis and analysis.
What was true of the concept “ memory”’! holds also of the con-
cepts “understanding” and “imagination”; they are names,
not of unitary forces or faculties, but of complex phenomena
made up of the usual elementary psychical processes; they are
not made up of elementary processes of a specific, distinct kind.
Just as memory is a general concept for certain associative pro-
cesses, So imagination and understanding are general concepts
for particular forms of apperceptive activity. They have a
certain practical value as ready means for the classification of
a variety of differences in the capacity of various persons for
intellectual activity. Each class thus found may in turn con-
tain an endless variety of gradations and shades. Thus, neg-
lecting the general differences in grade, we have as the chief
forms of-individual imagination the perceptive and combining
forms; as the chief forms of understanding, the inductive and
deductive forms, the first being mainly concerned with the single
logical relations and their combinations, the second more
with general concepts and their analysis. A person’s talent is
his total capacity resulting from the special tendencies of both
his imagination and understanding.

1 Outlines of Psychology, p. 277.

INDEX

Abstraction, 486.

Affections, 93-96.

Agreement, 485, 490-406.

Alban, St., 160.

Albertus Magnus, 210.

Alcmaeon, 9.

Analysis, 720-726.

Anaxagoras, 1, 6, 7, 8, 70, 72, 121, 122.

Andrew, St., 157.

Anger, 4, 34, 167.

Animals, 13, 25, 67, 79, 79, 139-142,
221-224, 364, 372, 694.

Antipater, 86.

Apperception, 222, 711-726.

Appetite, 51, 81, 164-167, 182, 518.

Apollodorus, 86.

Archer, William, 665.

Aristotle, 1-10, 45-83, 117, 121, 122,
I39, 140, 141, 189, 209, 213.

Assimilation, 590-594.

Association, 156-160, 202-204, 313-
330, 463-504, 711-726.

Atoms, 8, 96, 213-214.

Attention, 317, 336-337, 345, 354, 360.

Attribute, 4, 5, 95, 193-195, 203.

Augustine, Saint, 120, 132-137.

Avenarius, 610.

Axioms, 192, 365, 366.

Bacon, John, 210.

Bain, Alexander, 463, 483-504.

Baly, William, 530-544.

Beauty, 25, 37, 120, 130, 443, 446-447.

Belief, 160-163, 362-367, 373.

Beneke, Friedrich Eduard, 416-431, 621.

Berkeley, George, 256-278, 646.

Bichat, 456.

Blindness, 262-263, 272-277, 283, 331,
532, 556.

Blood, 171, 185, 537, 594.

Body, 4, 23, 45-50, 91-112, 118, 135,
143-146, 169-184, 197-222, 332-335,
413-415, 426-436, 565, 599-608, 693.

Brown, Thomas, 374-394.
Bythus, rar.

Cesar, Julius, 366.

Causality, 198, 204, 289-294, 302-312,
480-1.

Cause, final, 52-56, 221, 225.

Cerebellum, 316.

Child, 445, 471.

Chrysippus, 84, 86, 118.

Cicero, 117.

Cleanthes, 117, 118.

Cleon, 62, 74.

Cognition, 1, 11-26, 37, 75-77, 710.

Color, 24, 61, 141, 146, 245, 283, 202,
474, 522, 532, 582, 600, 601, 612, 630.

Color-vision, 16, 149, 247, 264, 331,
479-477, 573-581, 596.

Commodus, 165.

Common-sense, 62-66.

Common sensibles, 60-62.

Concepts, 395-413, 435-437, 691-606,
724-725.

Conception, 148-149, 155, 161, 165.

Condillac, Etienne Bonnot de, 341-360.

Connection, necessary, 253-255, 257,
271-273, 301, 302-312.

Consciousness, 361, 398, 401-403, 424,
506-526, 565-572, 591, 633-655, 685—
690.

Cordemoi, 213.

Contiguity, 301, 311-312, 480, 485,
499-503.

Critias, 9, 117.

Critolaus, 117.

Cromwell, Oliver, 366.

Cyclops, 85.

Darwin, 538, 669, 670.

Davies, J. L., 27-44.

Democritus, 1, 6, 7, 8, 122, 211, 213.

Descartes, René, 168-190, 213, 214,
656.

730

De Sens, 175.

Desire, 51, 78-80, 356-358, 442, 457-

Development, psychical, 416-423.

Dieterici, C., 579.

Diogenes, 8, 622.

Diogenes Laertius, 84-96.

Disease, 18, 88, 127, 131, 155.

Dissimilation, 590-594.

Distance, perception of, 256-278, 362,
363, 616.

Don Quixote, 366.

Dreams, 18, 19, 93, 215, 321, 328, 4609.

Dressler, J. G., 416.

Drobisch, Moritz Wilhelm, 432-447.

Du Bois-Reymond, 585.

Duncan, George Martin, 208-228.

Dyde, Samuel Walters, 11-26.

Dynamics, 218, 432-447.

Ear, 126, 265, 267, 338.

Effort, 448-462.

Elements, 20, 21, 24, 597-618.

Elliott, 538.

Embryo, 142.

Emotion, 87, 88, 121, 125, 127, 163-
Igo, 285, 389, 486, 490°, 496, 508, 655-
684, 697-705.

Empedocles, 1, 7,12, 54, 65, 73, 117-

Endowment, 125-131.

Energy, 114, 115, 303, 538, 565.

Entelechies, 210.

Epicurus, 89-96, 117.

Error, 93, 186, 187, 211.

Ethics, 191-207.

Eubulus, 117.

Euripides, 15.

Evolution, 505-629.

Experience, 158-159, 249, 268, 270, 276,
435, 510, 653, 676, 686, 693, 723.
Extension, 193-203, 256-278, 380-380,

474-476.

Hye, 105, 126, 257-278, 533, 534, 550-

554-

Faculties, 24, 27-41, 45-83, 109, 124,
148, 331-340, 445-447.

Faculty-psychology, 229-231.

Fatigue, 336, 378, 591.

Fear, 166, 167, 350-358, 382, 656-668,
682-683.

INDEX

Fechner, Gustav Theodor, 562-572,
586, 587, 588, 506.

Feeling, 139, 221, 442-445, 483, 505-
529, 035, 055-684, 695, 697-705, 725.

Feeling, common, 557-561.

Feeling, muscular, 374-380, 553-556.

Fibres, 334-340, 575-581.

Findlater, Andrew, 463.

Force, 144, 209, 210, 231, 395-408, 694.

Form, 50, 138-142.

Formula, measurement, 565-572.

Franklin, 504.

Free-will, 177, 186, 188, 215.

Fusion, tonal, 619-632.

Galton, Mr., 646.

Gay, Rev. William, 313.
Genius, 503, 504, 653.
Geometry, 2, 295.

Gland, pineal, 173-180.
Glaucon, 27-44.
Gloucester, Duke of, 160.
Goethe, 538, 597, 638.
Goldsmith, 378.

Good and evil, 81, 130, 146, 186, 225.
Greeks, 97, 120.

Gregory of Nyssa, 125-131.
Green, T. H., 270:

Grose, T. H., 279.

Grote, George, 463.

Habit, 324, 339, 354, 486, 601.

Haddon, Arthur West, 132-137.

Hagenauer, Rev. Mr., 667.

Haller, 456.

Hamilton, Sir William, 486.

Hammond, William Alexander, 45-83.

Hand, 425, 517, 710.

Harmony, 64, 217-228, 372, 648.

Hartley, David, 313-330, 482.

Hartsoeker, 211.

Harvey, 171.

Hearing, 63, 149, 538-542, 557-561,
620.

Heart, 125, 127, 128, 139, 163, 171; 175.

Hecaton, 86.

Hector, 6.

Hedge, Levi, 374.

Heidenhain, 615.

Helmholtz, Hermann von, 573-581, 637.

INDEX

Heraclitus, 9, 12, 22, 91, 117.

Herbart, Johann Friedrich, 395-415,
621, 622, 637.

Hering, Ewald, 582-596.

Hermogenes, 123.

Herschell, 587.

Herveaeus, 171.

Hicks, R. D., 1-13.

Hipparchus, 117.

Hippon, 9, 117.

Hort, 538.

Hobbes, Thomas, 147-167.

Holberg, 676.

Holmes, Peter, 116-124.

Homer, 7, 12, 13, 32, 36, 65.

Hume, David, 279-312, 480, 643, 646.

Huxley, Prof., 646.

Hypostasis, 113.

Ideas, 191-207, 232-246, 299, 313-

Ideas, association of, 287-293, 315-330,
463-504.

Ideas, dynamics of, 432-447.

Ideas, equilibrium of, 397-400, 418,
443-445.

Ideas, inhibition of, 439-442.

Identity, 253, 291, 298.

Illusion, 148-152, 538.

Images, 38, 77-78, 91, 92, 148, 495,
545-546, 553, 650, 725.

Imagination, 66-70, 77, 82, 148, 153-
156, 201, 286-287, 293, 314, 337-338,
351, 560, 626, 712, 721-726.

Immortality, 9, 41-44, 106, 123, 217.

Impressions, 279-285, 297, 303, 329, 330

Inhibition, 439-442.

Instinct, 460, 656.

Intellect, 93, 113-115, 125-131, 483.

Interest, 653, 654, 712.

Irrationality, 122-123.

Irritability, 450.

Jacobus, 139.

James, William, 633-671, 684.
Jeppe am Berge, 676-677.
Johnson, 502.

Jones, Owen, 617.

Judd, Charles Hubbard, 697-726.

731

Kaye, Bp., 119.

Kant, 433, 454.

Kepler, 563.

King, Archbishop, 313.

Knowledge, 160-163, 253-255, 204-
297, 648.

Koenig, A., 570.

Komma, 558.

Ladd, George Trumbull, 545-556.

Land, J. P., 191.

Lange, Carl Georg, 672-684.

Langfeld, Herbert Sidney, 562-572.

Language, 267, 271, 278, 368, 460, 64r.

Latins, 163.

Laughter, 127, 128.

Law, Archdeacon, 313.

Law, Hering’s, 582-596.

Law, Weber-Fechner, 557-572.

Lear, 502.

Leibnitz, Gottfried Wilhelm von, 208-
228.

Leontius, 34.

Leucippus, 6.

Lichtenberg, 608.

Light-sensation, 156, 176, 331, 532-
535, 582-596.

Local signs, 545-556.

Locke, John, 232-255, 276, 280, 315,
324, 454, 630.

Lotze, Rudolf Hermann, 545-556, 655.

Lucretius, 97-105, 118.

Mach, Ernst, 597-618.

Machine, 213, 219, 333-

Magnitude, 71, 110, 256, 267-272, 716,
77s

Maine de Biran, 448-462.
Malebranche, 211.

Man, 138-142, 192-196, 313-330.
Mantegazza, 669, 671.

Materialism, 427, 431.

Mathematics, 275, 296, 503.

Matter, 50, 108, 143, 144, 239, 334, 693.
Maxwell, 578, 570.

Measurement, psychical, 562-574, 715.
Melissus, 213.

Melloni, 587.

Judgment, 65, 93, 247, 345, 390, 714, | Memory, 202, 221, 286-287, 314, 337,

724.

381, 405, 436, 486-490, 694, 712, 726.

732

Mersenne, 175.

Metaphysics, 224, 426, 545, 597-610.

Method, 680.

Mill, James, 463-482.

Mill, John Stuart, 463, 632.

Mind, 97-105, 120-122, 132-135, I9I-
207, 235, 300, 313, 433-440, 463-480,
505-529, 692, 604.

Modes, 192-200, 251, 292-203.

Molesworth, Sir William, 147.

Molyneux, Mr., 247, 276.

Monads, 220-226.

Movement, 52, 57, 82, 91, 150, 170, 225,
240, 263, 304, 328, 377, 550, 707-

Mueller, Johannes, 530-544, 579, 597-

Munro, H. A. J., 97-105.

Muscle, 377, 384, 449, 489, 660, 660,
709.

Music, 165, 228, 411, 487, 558, 561, 648.

Nature, 130, 194, 208-228, 299, 464,
530-

Nerve, 316-320, 416, 538, 542, 573-581.

Newton, Sir Isaac, 315, 317, 318, 310,
503.

Nous, 8, 120.

Number, 291, 292, 204, 209, 473.

Nutrition, 45) 48, 51, 53-59, 79, 81, 224.

Object, 60, 84, 85, 230, 361-367, 373.
Observation, 249, 305.

Odour, 341-360, 368, 497, 535, 600.
Ogilvie, 502.

Optics, 257, 261, 573-581.

Pain, 49, 87, 98, Io1, 109, 152, 241, 285,
313, 342-356, 530, 606, 678.

Paradise Lost, 504.

Parmenides, 12, 213.

Parr, Samuel, 313.

Perception, 11-26, 54-60, 84, 110, 192,
220, 246-249, 338, 361-367, 412, 416,
417, 606, 658, 661.

Personality, 212, 333, 359, 455-462,
601-609.

Phenomena, psychical, 92, 432-435,
463-480.

Philosophy, 16, 209, 290, 297, 300, 462.

Physicist, 4, 5, 503, 608, 609.

Physiology, 417, 451, 530-544, 085-601.

INDEX

Piderit, 670.

Plants, 47, 48, 52, 54.

Plato, 7, 11-44, 116, 1r7, 118, 122, 123,
182.

Pleasure, 49, 75, 90, 152, 163, 165, 228,
241, 314, 342-356, 488, 606.

Pliny, 211.

Plotinus, 106-115.

Power, 148, 229-231, 242, 246, 302-
ie:

Power, muscular, 489-490.

Probability, 294-300.

Protagoras, 11-22.

Psychology, associational,
403-504.

Psychology, empirical, 147-167, 232-
312, 432-447.

Psychology, evolutional, 505-520.

Psychology, foundations of, 448-462.

Psychology, mathematical, 395-447.

Psychology, physiological, 331-340,
530-726.

Psychology, rational, 229-231.

Psychophysics, 530-544, 557-572, 596,
688.

Purkinje, 538.

Pythagoreans, 6.

3137339,

Qualities, 243-246, 299-
Quantity, 294, 408.

Rand, Benjamin, 125-131, 138-146,
331-340, 416-462, 557-561, 573-596,
672-684.

Rand, Edward Kennard, 229-231.

Rationality, 122-123, 138-142, 653.

Reaction, muscular, 708-711.

Reason, 70-73, 78-80, 130, 483, 643,
692.

Reason, sufficient, 224,.230.

Reflection, 234-238, 240-242, 252, 285,
332.

Reid, Thomas, 361-373.

Relation, 249-255, 290-292, 291-301,
505-510, 523, 621, 648, 650.

Relativity, law of, 483.

Reminiscence, physics of, 335-336.

Repetition, 472, 473, 487.

Resemblance, 291, 292, 294, 305, 480,
481.

INDEX

Resistance, 277, 374-389, 396, 397, 448,
462.

Retina, 511, 547-550, 559, 573-

Rhythm, 628, 645, 651.

Ribot, Th., 684.

Ritter, 535, 538.

Roman, 202.

Rudiment, 419-431.

Saturation, 577.

Schopenhauer, 597.

Science, 32, 50, 160-162, 416-431, 507,
609, 689, 690, 694, 695.

Seebeck, 587.

Selby-Bigge, T., 279.

Self, 133, 448-462, 598-608, 635, 640.

Self-consciousness, 416, 418, 426, 434.

Sensation, 49, 56-66, 85, 86, 94, 108,
230, 234-240, 285, 313, 310-324, 341-
360, 367-373, 463-482, 520, 530, 544,
562-574, 597-618, 652, 714.

Sensations, auditory, 530,
619-632.

Sensations, muscular, 374-380.

Sensations, olfactory, 71, 157, 318, 322,
341-360, 531-532, 635.

Sensations, tactual, 52, 519, 554-561,
606.

Sensations, visual, 256-278, 582-596,
718.

Sense, inner, 448-462.

Senses, 62, 85, 106, 148-162, 192, 236,
336, 361-389, 530-544-

Sensibility, 316, 445.

Sensorium, 317, 318, 537, 549, 543-

Signs, local, 545-556.

Sight, 16, 62, 256-278, 476, 557-561.

Similarity, 485-486, 490-496, 502-503.

Sleep, 19, 46, 153, 231, 279, 322, 533-

Smell, 52, 64, 126, 152, 319, 341-360,
360.

Smith, Margaret K.; 395-415.

Socrates, 11-44, 85, 121, 142.

Solidity, 238-240, 248, 276, 277, 308,
470.

Soul, 1-10, 27-46, 84, 106-126, 138-
146, 168-190, 209-210, 229-231, 331-
340, 413-415, 424-431.

Sound, 61, 71, 292, 369, 372, 520, 557-
561, 600, 601, 604, 619-632, 652.

557-561,

733

Space, 74, 239, 248, 274, 291, 513, 544,
545, 548, 552, 556, 621.

Space-perception, 380-389, 544, 611-
618.

Species, 2, 141, 142, 165.

Spencer, Herbert, 505-529, 668, 660,
O7z.

Spinoza, Baruch de, 191-207.

Spirit, 210, 226, 227, 445-447, 693-694.

Stewart, Dugald, 468.

Stimulus, 450, 562-572, 624, 706-709,
Toys

Stoics, 84-88, 117, 228.

Striving, 418, 439.

Substance, 45, 53, 144, I9I-I99, 218-
220, 220, 251-252, 290, 292-203.

Suggestion, 389-304.

Sumichrast, Frederick de, 341-360.

Symmetry, 616, 617.

Synergy, specific, 631.

Syrians, 139.

Synthesis, 720-726.

Taine, M., 654.

Talent, 726.

Taste, 64, 152, 238, 245, 318-324, 371,
498, 512, 521, 530, 535, 543-

Tension, 418.

Tertullian, 116-124.

Tethys, 12.

Thales, 8, 117.

Thaumas, 16.

Theaetetus, 11-26.

Theodorus, 25.

Thomas Aquinas, 138-146.

| Thought, 3, 56-77, 156-160, 490, 643,

648.

Time, 291, 294, 298, 381, 486, 498, 506,
522, 524, 647.

Titchener, Edward Bradford, 558, 685-
606.

Tone, 557-561, 619-632.

Torrey, Henry A. P., 168-190.

Touch, 51, 52, 239-240, 247, 256, 266,
273, 370, 376, 380-389, 514, 530-531,
557-501.

Traces, 419-423.

Treviranus, 544.

Truth, 25, 26, 73-75, 93,159) 160,
161.

734

Understanding, 135-137, 207, 232-255,

445, 722-720.
Unity, 140, 209, 216, 241-242, 607.

Valentinus, 121.

Van Vloten, J., 191.

Vaughan, D. J., 27-44.

Vibrations, doctrine of , 313-330, 339, 537:

Vibratiuncles, 322.

Vis repraesentiva, 231.

Vision, 149, 256-278, 521, 542, 550,
573-581.

Volition, 81, 179, 183, 205, 206, 240-
241, 483, 486, 496, 606, 697-711.

Wagner, R., 557.

INDEX

Weber, Ernst Heinrich, 544, 557-561,
717, 718.

Weber’s Law, 557-572, 717, 718.

Weight, 474, 559, 561, 595-596, 720.

Will, 78; 88, 125, 135-137, 145-146,
165-167, 207, 240-241, 314, 334, 356,
440, 697-711.

Wisdom, 112, 159, 213, 225.

Wolff, Christian von, 229-231.

Wundt, Wilhelm, 669, 670, 687-726.

Yonge, Charles D., 84-096.
Young, Thomas, 573-581, 583.

Zeno, 84-88, 117, 642.
Zenocrates, 117.

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